It is nearly impossible for a submarine to send a prize crew on board a big ship, therefore neutral States have given their captains the order to go in a ship's boat and deliver their papers themselves on board the submarine; but they often annoyed us by a long parley and delay, and it was always with a feeling of disappointment that we were obliged to leave inactive our cannons and torpedoes, the crew sadly exclaiming, "After all, they were only neutrals!"

One sunny afternoon, we were in the act of examining the papers of a Dutch steamer that we had stopped in the neighborhood of the Meuse Lightship, when we perceived on the horizon another steamer coming rapidly towards us, and we judged by its outline that it was of English construction. The steamer we were examining proved to be unobjectionable in every respect, and sailing only between neutral ports, so we dismissed it, and just as it was departing, the English steamer, evidently apprehending our presence, turned about in great haste in hope to escape from us, and steered with full steam ahead towards the English shores, to seek the protection of the ships on the watch patroling the English coast.

The English captain well knew what fate awaited him if he fell into the hands of a wicked German U-boat. Mighty clouds of smoke rose from her funnels, giving evidence of the active endeavors of the stokers in the boiler-room to bring the engines up to their highest speed, and before we had time to give the signal to stop, the steamer was in flight.

Meanwhile we had also put on all steam in pursuit, and drove our engines to their utmost capacity. The English ship was going at a great pace, and we had many knots to cover before we could catch up with her to impose our commands, for she paid no heed to the international flag-signal we had hoisted—"Stop at once or we fire!"—and she was striving her uttermost to reach a zone of safety. Our prow plunged into the surging seas, and showered boat and crew alike with silvery, sparkling foam. The engines were being urged to their greatest power, and the whir of the propeller proved that below, at the motor valves, each man was doing his very best. Anxiously, we measured the distance that still separated us from our prey. Was it diminishing? Or would they get away from us before our guns could take effect? Joyfully we saw the interval lessening between us, and before long our first warning shot, across her bow, raised a high, threatening column of water. But still the Englishman hoped to escape from us, and the thick smoke belching from the funnels showed that the stokers were shoveling more and more coal into the glowing furnace; they well knew what risk they had to run.

Even after two well-aimed shots were discharged from the steel mouths of our cannons, right and left on either side of the fugitive, which must have warned the captain that the next shot would undoubtedly strike the stern, he was still resolved neither to stop nor surrender.

Nothing now remained for us but to use our last means to enforce our will. With a whistling sound, a shell flew from the muzzle of our cannon and a few seconds later fell with a loud crash in a cloud of smoke on the rear deck of the steamer. This produced the desired effect.

Immediately the steamer stopped and informed us by three quick blasts from the steam whistle (the international signal) that the engines would be reversed and the ship stopped. The captain had given up his wild race.

Huge white clouds from the uselessly accumulated steam rose from the funnels, and to our signal, "Abandon the ship at once," the Englishman replied with a heavy heart by hoisting a white and red striped pennon, the preconcerted international sign that our order had been understood and was being obeyed.

This small striped pennon has a deep significance: it means that a captain accepts this most painful necessity knowing that his dear old boat will soon lie at the bottom of the sea; truly a difficult decision for the captain of a proud ship to make. The crew were by this time reconciled to their fate and, as we drew near to parley with the captain, the life boats were launched; the men tossed in their belongings and, jumping in, took their places at the oars. It need hardly be said that we, on the other hand, were pleased with our capture. I have often shaken hands with the gunner who had fired the last deadly shot, for we waste no emotion over our adversary's fate. With every enemy's ship sent to the bottom, one hope of the hated foe is annihilated. We simply pay off our account against their criminal wish to starve all our people, our women, and our children, as they are unable to beat us in open fight with polished steel. Ought we not therefore to rejoice in our justifiable satisfaction?

After the crew had left in two boats the blazing hull of the "Leuwarden" of Harwich, a well-directed shot was aimed at the water line. Mighty jets of water poured into the rear storeroom, and the heavy listing of the ship showed that her last hour had struck. We beckoned to the captain to row up beside us and deliver his papers; he stepped silently on board, and we exchanged salutes. As I saw that the two boat-loads of twenty-five men were lying off within hearing, on either side of us, I took this opportunity to admonish the captain about his foolhardy attempt to escape, and how he thereby had endangered the lives of his crew. The latter, realizing the justice of my remarks, thanked us for having saved them by respectfully lifting their caps. The captain awkwardly excused himself by saying he had simply hoped to get away.

I then notified these people whom we had saved that we would take them in tow to the Meuse Lightship; at this, the fine-looking old captain realized to what useless dangers he had exposed his men, and what cause he had to be grateful to us. With tears in his eyes, he seized my hand and murmured his thanks. I willingly took his outstretched hand.... At that instant a Dutch pilot steamboat, which had been attracted to the spot by the sound of firing, hove in sight, and I committed the Englishmen to its care. We all desired, before departing in opposite directions, to witness the final sinking of the steamer, for apparently the English also wanted to see the last of their fine ship, and we awaited the great moment in silence.

We had not long to wait. The stern of the ship sank deeper and deeper, whereas the bow rose sharply in the air, till at last with a loud gurgle the whole steamer was drawn down, and the waters bubbled and roared over the sunken wreck. There was now one less fine ship of the English merchant marine afloat on the ocean!

We had all seen enough, and each one went his way. Our course was pointed westward towards new endeavors, while the Dutchman steered for the nearest port in order to land the shipwrecked crew. I think it was our English friends who waved a friendly farewell from the deck of the pilot steamboat in grateful recognition for our having saved their lives, although they may not actually have wished us "aufwiedersehn."

We read in the Dutch papers a few days later an accurate description of the sinking of the "Leuwarden," and the English captain was fain to acknowledge how well we had treated him; every captain of an English steamer might have been treated in like manner had not the English Government wished it otherwise.



VI

THE CAPTURE OF TWO PRIZE STEAMERS

The next day an opportunity offered itself to us which opened to submarines a new field of activity in the commercial war. It was a gray, misty morning, the sea was becalmed, and over the still waters a heavy vapor hung low like a veil before the rising sun. But little could be seen, and we had to keep a sharper lookout than usual to avoid running unawares into a hostile ship, and we also had to be ready for a sudden submersion. We strained all the more an attentive ear to every sound; for it is well known that in a fog, during a calm, we sailors can perceive the most distant noise that comes over the water. In time of peace fog horns and whistles give warning of any approaching vessel, but in time of war, on the contrary, no vessel wishes to betray its presence. It is essential for us to have two men down below, at listening posts, with their ears glued to the sides of the boat, to catch the throbbing of a propeller, or the rush of waves dashing against the prow of a ship, or any suspicious vibrations, for these noises are easily discernible under sea, water being an excellent sound conductor.

On this March morning we were all keenly intent on the approach of some ship; many times already as we stood on the bridge we had been deceived by some unreal vision or some delusive sound; our overstrained nerves transformed our too lively fancy into seeming reality; and in a thick fog objects are strangely magnified and distorted: a floating board may assume the shape of a boat, or a motor launch be taken for a steamer.

I remember a little story about a man-of-war seeking to enter a harbor in a heavy fog; every one on board was looking in vain for a buoy to indicate the channel when the captain himself called out, "It is for me then to point out the buoy; there it is!" but as they drew near, the buoy floating on the water spread but a pair of wings and flew away in the shape of a gull, and many a gull in a fog may have deceived other experienced seamen.

But to return to our own adventures on this misty morning; we not only saw gulls rising from the sea, and boards floating on the water, but we also encountered English mines adrift, which had parted from their moorings, and to these we thought it safer to give a wide berth. At last the fog lifted, and we discovered in the distance, a few knots away, a steamer; we immediately went in pursuit. Rapidly it steamed ahead, but we caught up with it, and found it belonged to the Dutch-Batavian Line, but as it was steering for the English coast, towards the mouth of the Thames, we took for granted it carried a contraband cargo. We signaled for it to stop, but the steamer refused to obey our command and increased its speed. Having ascertained that we could easily overtake it, we spared our shot, which must be carefully preserved for more useful purposes. After a chase which lasted about three quarters of an hour only a thousand meters remained between us. The Dutch captain wisely gave up a further attempt to escape, and awaited our orders. In compliance with my signal he sent his first officer in a boat with the ship's papers. While we lay alongside the steamer, gently rocking to and fro, the crew and passengers flocked on deck to gaze at us with wondering eyes, and we in return tried to discover to what nationality they belonged.

On reading the papers the officer handed me, I saw the steamer was the "Batavian IV," destined for London, carrying a cargo of provisions, which is contraband of war. I had to make a rapid decision as to the fate of the steamer, and I resolved to bring the "Batavian" into one of the Belgian ports now in our possession. No U-boat had ever attempted such a feat before, but why not try? Of course we had to cover a long distance with the imminent threat of being overtaken by English warships, but if we did succeed, it was a very fine catch, and after all,—nothing venture, nothing have. Besides the misty weather was in our favor, and it would only take a few hours to reach the protection of our batteries on the Flemish coast.



The Dutch officer was notified that a prize crew would be at once sent on board his steamer to conduct it to the port of Zeebrugge. He opened wondering eyes, but made no protest, for he was fully aware of our cannons turned on his ship and of the loaded pistols of our crew. The crew and passengers on board the Dutchman were no less astounded when our prize command, consisting of one officer and one sailor, climbed up on deck. I could not well dispense, myself, with more men, and in case my prize was released by the English, it would be better they had so few prisoners of ours to take.

The Dutch captain raised several objections at being led away captive in this manner; above all he was afraid of the German mines strewn before the entrance of Zeebrugge, but my officer reassured him by telling him we should lead the way and he would therefore run no risk. He finally had to resign himself to his fate. So we proceeded towards the shores of Flanders; we, in the proud consciousness of a new achievement, and the Dutchman lamenting over the seizure of his valuable cargo. The passengers must have wondered what was in store for them. Many of the ladies were lightly clad, having been roused in fright from their morning slumbers, and their anxious eyes stared at us, while we merrily looked back at them.

Our officer on board exchanged continual signals with us, and we were soon conscious, with a feeling of envy, as we gazed through our field glasses, that he was getting on very friendly terms with the fair sex on board our prize. We had feared at first that he might have some disagreeable experiences, but his first message spelled, "There are a great many ladies on board," and the second, "We are having a delicious breakfast," and the third, "The captain speaks excellent German," so after this we were quite reassured concerning him.

An hour may have elapsed when a cloud of smoke on the eastern horizon announced the approach of another steamer, and the idea that we might perhaps capture a second prize ship was very alluring. The wisdom of abandoning for a while our first captive was considered somewhat doubtful; if we delayed it might escape after darkness set in, but when I heard my officers exclaim "What a fine steamer!" I decided to try for it. The "Batavian" was ordered to proceed slowly on the same course, and we would catch up with it later; then turning my attention to steamer No. 2, I made quickly in her direction to intercept her on her way to England. After half an hour's pursuit we signaled for her to stop, and we discovered she was also Dutch. The captain, seeing it was useless to try and escape, put out a boat and came on board with the ship's papers; he seemed thoroughly displeased at the meeting, and hoped no doubt by coming himself to get away more easily, but of this expectation he was to be sadly disabused. On discovering that he was also carrying contraband of war—cases of eggs for London—I ordered him to follow us to Zeebrugge. One officer and a stoker, for I could not spare another sailor, accompanied him as our prize command on board his ship, the "Zaanstroom," and after a lapse of an hour and a half, followed by No. 2, we caught up with No. 1.

The difficulty of my task can be easily imagined, for I was obliged to make the two steamers follow each other at a given interval and at the same speed; like a shepherd dog herding his flock I had to cruise round my two captives and force them to steer a straight and even course, for one tried occasionally to outdistance the other, probably with the desire to escape in the foggy weather, which increased my fear of not reaching the Flemish coast before dark.

But finally I got the steamers into line, and where persuasion might have failed the menace of my cannons was doubtless my surest reason for success.

My second officer on the "Zaanstroom" signaled that everything was going to his liking and that they were just sitting down to a savory meal of dropped eggs. This was reassuring news, and I could also feel tranquil on his behalf; besides in a few hours we should be safely under cover of our coast artillery. We notified the Pilot Depot by wireless to send us a pilot for each ship, and our messages having been acknowledged we were certain of being warmly welcomed, and that every preparation would be made for the reception of our two prizes.

The closer we got to the coast the heavier the fog lay upon the water, a not unusual experience at sea. We had to advance with the greatest caution; our U-boat led the way to confirm anew the assurance we had given our two steamers that they were in no danger of mines. We had to measure the depth of water repeatedly with the lead, and so doing we had to stop very often; otherwise the lead being dragged by the current draws the line to an inaccurate length. It is but too easy a matter to run aground off the coast of Flanders, as submerged sandbanks are everywhere to be encountered, and this would have been in our present case a most unfortunate occurrence. This continual stopping rather disturbed the order of our march, for steamers are more unwieldy and less accustomed to rapid maneuvering than war vessels. Luckily all went well with us, for after a fine trip of several hours we gladly greeted our German guard-ships lying off the port of Zeebrugge, and the lighthouse on the mole beckoned to us from afar through the thin afternoon mist.

We quickly surrendered our two captive's to the patrol of the port authorities, into whose care and surveillance they were now entrusted. Our job for the day was over, and we could joyfully hurry to our berth within the harbor. We passed along the tremendous stone quay of the artificial port of Zeebrugge; it extends several kilometers, and was built by Leopold II with English money; it had cost many, many millions, and was intended to serve quite another purpose than its present one. We could look with defiance at the mouth of our German cannons that gaped over the highest edge of the jetty towards the sea, as if awaiting the foe.

Farther on up the mole, instead of English troops that the King would so gladly have sent over in transports to march through neutral Belgium and pay us an uninvited visit, stood, side by side, our own brave fellows of the Army and of the Navy. Men from every branch of the service, in their different uniforms, were visible, as they crowded on the pier to witness our arrival with our two prize boats, for the news of this unusual capture had already spread far and wide, and they all wanted to satisfy their curiosity. Their enthusiasm would have been even greater had they guessed that concealed within the hull of our two vessels an Easter feast of undreamed-of dainties lay in store for them. But even without this incentive a tremendous cheer from a thousand throats hailed our appearance as we rounded the mole, and our thirty voices returned as hearty, if not as loud, a three times repeated cheer for the garrison of Zeebrugge. Our tow lines were caught by the eager hands of the sailors, and in a jiffy we were lying securely alongside the quay, safe in port to rest in peace a day or two after a many days' cruise enlivened by such exciting events. Our friends of the Navy, whom we had not seen since the beginning of the war, came to visit us at once; much gay news was exchanged and also sad regrets expressed at the loss of dear fallen comrades.

Shortly afterwards one of the Dutch captains, escorted by two guards, asked me to grant him an interview, and I was glad to make his personal acquaintance; we discussed over a little glass of port wine, which we were both surely entitled to, the incidents of the day, and he gave vent to his affliction at being thus seized, by ejaculating: "A great steamer like mine to be captured by a little beast like yours!" I could sympathize with his feelings, for he had sustained a severe pecuniary loss, and he well knew what would become of his ship and cargo according to prize law, but I suspected he found some consolation in having a companion in misfortune, for the other Dutch captain had to submit to the same conditions. We shook hands and parted excellent friends, knowing that each one of us had only accomplished his duty.

Before making my official report I inspected my two prizes that were docked just behind us; a chain parted them from the rest of the quay, with sentries placed on guard. I gave the preference of my first visit, naturally, as a polite man should, to the steamer with so many of the fair sex on board. I hoped that by appearing surrounded by my officers I should dispel their fear of the "German barbarians." I was told the ladies belonged to a variety troupe that was to give a performance the next evening in London. Poor London, to be deprived by our fault of an enjoyable evening!

Among the other passengers were Belgians and French, who had waited six weeks in Holland for a chance to get across, and also an American reporter of the Hearst newspaper. He had a camera for taking moving pictures, and we discovered later that he had photographed the whole occurrence of the capture of the ship by our submarine. A few days later the Graphic of March 27, 1915, published several of his pictures, which eventually found their way to many American papers.

I was ordered that evening to dine with the Commanding Admiral of the Marine Corps, Excellency von Schroeder, and a motor called for me and took me to Bruegge where he resided. The peaceful landscape and the ploughed fields betrayed but few signs of war, and I saw Belgian peasants and German soldiers planting together the seed for the coming harvest.

While the authorities were passing judgment on my two prizes I had a chance to visit the surrounding country. The English had destroyed in their retreat everything in Zeebrugge, except the new Palace Hotel, the new Post Office, and the Belgian Bank. I made the most of this short opportunity to observe the doings of our men in this conquered land paid for with German blood. I was interested to note how our Marines had been incorporated in every branch of the Army service, and how easily they adapted themselves to this new life. They served as infantry in the trenches, as artillery behind the great coast guns, and also as cavalry mounted on big Flemish mares. They had even been transformed into car conductors on the electric line that runs behind the dunes between Zeebrugge and Ostend. In fact they filled every kind of position, and few Belgians were to be seen. We had created here a second German fatherland and home, notwithstanding the enemy's reports that we had acted like Huns and barbarians, but as neither the country nor the people were of great interest to me my attention was centered on the study of our own troops.

Meantime the unloading of our steamers had begun and I had to supervise it myself. As the cargoes were composed of perishable foodstuffs the usual delays were overcome, and hundreds of sailors and soldiers were ordered to unload the ships. Out of the hold rose newly slaughtered pigs, and sheep, and ducks, which were at once distributed among the various regiments. Two hundred barrels of the best Munich beer were rolled over the quays, and two barrels found their way on board our little boat, which no one could begrudge us. On the "Zaanstroom" there were 4,400 boxes of fresh eggs, each box containing 1,800 eggs, and I was told by an Army officer that every man of the Northern Army received eight eggs for the Easter festival.

On the following afternoon the nationality of the crew and of the passengers was recorded; a number of them were sent as prisoners of war to concentration camps, and many touching farewells ensued between the men and the women who were left behind. The others were taken on a special train under military guard to the Dutch frontier. The German sailors on whom this mission devolved looked very jolly as they sat armed to the teeth in the railway carriages, by twos, watching over two pretty variety actresses, and I think they would willingly have prolonged the journey farther.

I walked along the train to say goodbye to the passengers, who had so unwillingly made our acquaintance, and I was warmly thanked by an old American, to whom I personally had done a small favor, for my courteous treatment; he spoke in the name of all the passengers who had experienced also the greatest civility at the hands of the port authorities. I declined these words of thanks, for they had only received the treatment that was their proper due.

After the train had left, the hour of our own departure had struck; we cast off the lines that had kept us bound for two such memorable days on the Flemish coast. In passing by, I waved a farewell to the two Dutch captains, and away we went—westward ho!



VII

OFF THE COAST OF ENGLAND

Our boat carried us speedily away farther and farther towards the west, and soon the lighthouse on the mole and the outline of the country we had conquered faded away in the evening twilight. Before long we should be surrounded by only hostile shores.

We first sighted the French port of Boulogne where the imposing bronze statue of Napoleon I stands on a marble column fifty-three meters high, with eyes turned towards the English coast. It was built to commemorate the expedition planned by Napoleon in 1803 against the sons of Albion, whose descendants have so recently landed on French soil, and as they lie there encamped, they may wonder, when gazing at the statue of the great Emperor, if he would have welcomed them with the same enthusiasm with which they have been received by the present rulers of France.

On our very first day in the French Channel we were able to sink several steamers, after the crews had left in their lifeboats, and on general lines a similar picture was traced at every sinking. We were now granted our first opportunity to steer a submarine above and below the waters of the North Atlantic. The ocean seemed to rejoice at our coming, and revealed itself to us in all the glory of a March storm. Only those who have seen such a storm can realize its proud majesty. The gigantic, blue-black waves, with their shining crests lashed by the west wind, came rushing onwards into the open mouth of the Channel, and the hemmed-in waters, roaring and surging, dashed themselves against the sharp, rocky points of the French coast, or broke less violently but in ceaseless unrest on the chalk cliffs of England which glimmered white in the rays of the sun.



It is a splendid sight to watch this great spectacle from the high deck of a steamer as it ploughs its way through the foaming flood, or to be borne aloft on the top of the waves with a ship under full sail, but it is still more wonderful to behold Nature's great display from the half submerged conning-tower of a U-boat, and to dive through the mountainous breakers until they close gurgling over our heads and hide us from all curious glances. Our little nutshell, in perpetual motion, is drawn down into the deep valleys of the ocean waves, or tossed upwards on the comb of the following breaker. We are soaked to the skin, and the spray covers us like a silvery veil; our boat as well as ourselves is daubed with a salt crust, our eyes smart and our lips have a briny tang, but to us sailors it's a joy to be the sport of the wild waves, and even those few unfortunates who always suffer from sea-sickness never lose their love of the sea.

We were thus, in the midst of a strong southwesterly gale, lying in wait for our prey at the entrance of the English Channel, but no ship was to be seen; most of them took the northerly course beyond the war zone, around the Shetland Islands, and it was not until the next morning, north of the Scilly Isles, in the Bristol Channel, that we caught sight behind us of a big steamer, running before the wind, like ourselves. The wind had somewhat fallen and the March sun was shining bright and warm; the steamer was heading for Cardiff, and we judged by her course that she had sailed from some port in South America.

Turning about and breasting the waves we faced the oncoming steamer and signaled to her to stop; but hardly had she espied us than she also turned about in the hope to escape. She showed no flag to indicate her nationality, so surely we had sighted an English vessel. Even after we had fired a warning shot, she tried by rapid and tortuous curves to return to her former course, and endeavor thereby to reach her home port. Meantime she sent up rockets as signals of distress in quick succession, to draw the attention of British patrol ships that must be hovering in the neighborhood.

This obliged us to fire a decisive shot, and with a loud report our first shell struck the ship close to the captain's bridge. Instead of resigning himself to his fate, the Englishman sent up more signals and hoisted the British flag. This showed us he was game, and the fight began in dead earnest. All honor to the pluck of these English captains!—but how reckless to expose in this manner the lives of their passengers and crew, as we shall see in the present instance.

Circling around us he tried to ram us with his prow, and we naturally avoided him by also turning in the same direction. Every time he veered about he offered us his broadside for a shot; with well-directed aim we took advantage of this target, and our successful fire gave him full proof of the skill of our gunners. The latter had a hard time of it; the high seas poured over the low deck, and they continually stood up to their necks in the cold salt water. They were often dragged off the deck by the great receding waves, but as they were tied by strong ropes to the cannons we were able to pull them up again, and fortunately no lives were lost.

On seeing our gunners struggling in the seas, our foe hoped to make good his escape, but with each telling shot our own fighting blood was aroused and the wild chase continued. A well-aimed shell tore off the English flagstaff at the stern, but the Union Jack was quickly hoisted again on the foretop. This was also shot down, and a third time the flag flew from a line of the yard of the foretop, but the flag had been raised too hastily and it hung reversed, with the Union Jack upside down, and in this manner it continued to fly until it sank with the brave ship.

The fight had lasted four hours without our being able to deliver the death stroke. Several fires had started on the steamer, but the crew had been able to keep them under control; big holes gaped open in the ship's side, but there were none as yet below the water line, and the pumps still sufficed to expel the water. It often occurred that in the act of firing the waves choked our cannons, and the shot went hissing through tremendous sheets of water, while we were blinded by a deluge of foam. Of course we were all wet, through and through, but that was of no importance, for we had already been wet for days.

It was now essential for us to put an end to this deadly combat, for English torpedo-boat destroyers were hurrying on to the calls of distress of the steamer. Big clouds of smoke against the sky showed they were coming towards us under full steam. The ship was by this time listing so heavily that it was evident we need waste no more of our ammunition, and besides the appearance of another big steamer on the southern horizon was an enticing inducement to quit the battle scene and seek another victim. We cast a last look on our courageous adversary who was gradually sinking, and I must add it was the first and last prey whose end we did not have the satisfaction to witness. We had been truly impressed by the captain's brave endurance, notwithstanding his lack of wisdom, and we knew that the men-of-war were coming to his rescue. We read in the papers, on our return to a German port, that the "Vosges" had sunk soon after we had departed, and what remained of the passengers and crew were picked up by the English ships. The captain was rewarded for his temerity by being raised to the rank of Reserve officer, and the crew were given sums of money; but all the other officers had perished, as well as several sailors and a few passengers, who had been forced to help the stokers in order to increase the speed of the flying steamer.

We hurried away, therefore, in the direction of the other ship, and as we approached we soon recognized the Spanish colors flying from her flagstaff and painted on her sides. The captain willingly stopped at our bidding and dispatched an officer to us bearing the ship's papers. The stormy waves had somewhat subsided, and although the occupants of the boat got very wet, yet they were able, without danger, to come alongside our submarine. There was no contraband on board the Spanish steamer, and before dismissing the officer I admonished him always to stop at the first signal from a U-boat; he assured me that since the English were constantly hoisting the Spanish flag he had lost all desire to navigate again in the dangerous waters of the war zone. Much relieved at getting away so easily he went on board his own steamer, which resumed its voyage towards the lovely city of Santander on the Spanish coast.

I read an account later of our encounter with the "Agustina" in a number of the Matin of April 1, 1915. It was entitled "Toujours l'U" and spoke of our undesirable presence in French waters; a following number did us the honor to represent a large picture of our boat with the officers standing on the bridge, taken probably by a passenger on board the Spanish vessel. An arrow pointed to us with the inscription, "Voila l'equipage de bandits." The English usually refer to us as "the pirates," and in their rage describe our activities as those of the "German submarine pest." We are accustomed to these flattering allusions, and it amused me to preserve and frame our picture from the Matin.

In the next few days we stopped and searched several neutral steamers, and sank many English ones. The captains were occasionally stubborn and refused to obey our signals, so a few accidents occurred; in one case, for instance, a stray shot struck some passengers in a lifeboat, which collapsed; but as a rule passengers and crews were picked up by the many sailboats and fishing boats which circulate in the Irish Sea and in St. George's Channel, and it was we who generally summoned these fishermen to go to the rescue of their shipwrecked countrymen.

The method of capture was always the same, and now, our ammunition being nearly exhausted, we steered a homeward course, with the hope of securing a few more steamers on the way. We were again favored by good luck, for at the entrance of the English Channel we ran across a large steamer, coming from America and heading for a French port, heavily laden with all the fine things that the Americans at present so willingly export.

The chase began in the usual fashion as we followed closely in the enemy's wake. Although the captain made an effort to escape, yet he evidently felt certain from the beginning that he would be unable to do so, for he immediately swung out the lifeboats, ready to be lowered. We were economizing our ammunition and did not, according to our custom, fire a warning shot, but as we drew near the steamer we suddenly saw dark, round objects thrown overboard. The man at the helm beside me exclaimed: "They are throwing mines," but I was not of the same opinion. We proceeded quietly to examine these suspicious objects more closely, and we discovered they were simply bundles of clothes the sailors were trying to save. In pitching them into the lifeboats they had missed the mark and the bundles had fallen into the sea. A report had apparently spread through the English seaports that the men had but scant time to save their belongings when they were sighted by one of our submarines, and since that time their clothes were strapped together ready for a sudden emergency. The steamer stopped and the crew on this occasion took to the boats with a perfect discipline we were little accustomed to witness; the "Flaminian" was sent to the bottom of the sea with one of our last torpedoes.

The following morning, before bidding the west coast of England a temporary farewell, we made another good catch. We sighted a broad-bottomed, four-masted steamer, also coming from America, laden down, as we soon ascertained, with 5,000 tons of oats, and making its way to Havre. We started after it, and as usual it tried to escape, but a well-directed shot through the bridge and chart house brought it to a stop, and it signaled that the engines were being reversed. The boats were lowered, and on drawing near we perceived the captain with others on the bridge holding up their hands as a token of surrender. As soon as those on board had taken their places in the lifeboats they rowed towards us and showed the liveliest interest in the final torpedoing of their steamer. They looked upon it as a new kind of sport, and under the present conditions they could watch the performance in the most comfortable way. The sea was like a mirror, and reflected the smiling spring sunshine whose warming rays were most agreeably felt.

The English captain had scarcely been on board my submarine a moment when he begged that we might go together and verify the excellent aim of our first shot through the forward part of his ship, which he told me had nearly grazed his ear. I consented to go on his lifeboat and admire with him, to our mutual enjoyment, the irreproachable marksmanship of my gunner, although I did not accept a drink of whisky one of the English officers offered me.

On seeing the gaping hole in the forecastle, the captain and his men clapped their hands and cried out, "A very good shot!" The captain congratulated me for securing, as he asserted, the richest prize I had ever made, but I assured him we had sunk even more valuable cargoes than the present one. I decided, as the sea was calm and no ship was in sight, to spare our torpedoes and shells and to put an end to the steamer with little hand grenades. The Englishmen took a sportsmanlike interest in the proceedings, and one of the officers even volunteered to show me the most effective position for the explosive. I naturally did not gratify his wish to place it there himself, for I knew myself very accurately the most vulnerable spot in the ship. In a very few moments a big hole was torn in the side of the "Crown of Castille" and with a gurgling sound the waters rushed in. At the same time long, yellow threads of the finest oats floated far out on the sea and, glistening with a golden shimmer, gave proof long after the steamer had sunk of the precious cargo which had lain within its flanks. You poor French army horses, I fear your rations were cut short for a while!

I had made an interesting study of the manner in which the English crews of the present day were composed. Apart from the British officers there were but few experienced seamen on board. This was made evident by the awkward way the men usually handled the lifeboats. Even with the enormous increase of wages, sailors could not be found to risk their lives in the danger zone, and a lot of untrained fellows, negroes and Chinamen, revealed by their clumsy rowing that they had only recently been pressed into service.

Various other interesting incidents occurred on our return trip, which I shall not mention now, but having safely reached our newly conquered port of Ostend, we read to our amusement in a French paper that our U-boat had been sunk in the Channel by a fleet of six fishing steamers.

We were again warmly welcomed by our comrades from the Army and Navy, all anxious to hear the news we had to tell, and we had the special honor of a visit from H.R.H. the Crown Prince Rupprecht of Bavaria, who, after inspecting our boat, permitted me to give him a detailed account of our recent splendid cruise.

We had many other experiences during the quiet, warm, summer months, with their long, clear nights, which enabled us to achieve the further destruction of a large number of steamers. It was glorious to work in fine weather on our U-boat on the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, so peaceful at this season of the year, and so doing we indulged in much friendly intercourse with the various fishermen we met.

Fishing steamers have replaced the old sailboats to a great extent, and they represent an enormous fishing industry. Our larder was daily replenished with fresh fish, which was a greatly appreciated item on our monotonous bill of fare.

One windy evening in August, we captured a Belgian steamer bringing home coal from Cardiff; the crew having left the ship, the latter was rapidly sinking, when to our astonishment a man sprang on deck from below. He had evidently been forgotten and our shot going through the steamer had warned him of his danger. He hesitated to obey my repeated orders to jump overboard, until finally encased in two life belts he plunged into the water and began to swim; but the screw was still slowly revolving, and he was drawn deep down by the suction of the water. We had given him up as lost, when we were amazed to see him reappear on the other side of the ship. The screw, which had slowly pulled him down, had thrown him up again, and he swam towards us. A big wave having tossed him onto our low deck, we were glad to find he was unhurt, and we gave him the best of care. He was a Dutchman, and after a fortnight spent in our midst, he was so happy he no longer wished to leave us.

When it came to our sinking of the "Midland Queen" a similar incident occurred. A negro had been forgotten by his white fellow-countrymen, and on finding himself abandoned and alone he was so greatly scared that he did not dare to leave the sinking ship; we watched him, and beckoned to him to come to us; but he refused, and swore at us furiously. Presently the "Midland Queen" pitched violently forward, and stood nearly erect with her nose in the water; then with a shrill whistling sound she dived below the surface of the waves. The negro's black head vanished in the turmoil of the waters; then suddenly a loud detonation occurred; an explosion of compressed air within the ship threw up, sky-high, barrels and boards, and among them, to our unbelieving eyes, we saw the wriggling body of the negro. He was projected into the sea, and swam towards us, apparently none the worse after this strange and violent experience. We rescued him and handed him over to his mates, who had rowed back to his assistance.

On our return voyage through the North Sea we met a large sailboat, with the Swedish flag flying from the topmast. She lay completely becalmed, and signaled for us to draw near. We saw a large crowd gathered on her deck, and we approached cautiously, fearing some trap; when to our joyful surprise we found she had 150 German officers and sailors on board. They belonged to one of our auxiliary cruisers, the "Meteor." Her captain after many exploits had been pursued by several English cruisers, and to save his little vessel from being captured he had deliberately sent her to the bottom of the sea, and the Swedish sailboat had picked up the crew. Our shipwrecked comrades told us they were desperately hungry, but our own provisions were exhausted; so we took them in tow, for not a breath of wind stirred the sails.

By clear sunshine we merrily covered the short distance to our nearest port, and towards midday the sailing ship and ourselves let down our anchors once more off the German coast.



VIII

THE METHOD OF SINKING AND RAISING SHIPS

During the present naval warfare we have had the opportunity to watch the sinking of ships of every type and size; shortly after receiving their death wound the vessels usually disappear totally beneath the surface. It takes even big steamers only between four and ten minutes to sink, after being hit by a torpedo or shell beneath the water line, and yet occasionally a ship may float several hours before going down to the bottom of the sea.

It is clearly evident that the slow or rapid sinking of a ship depends on the distribution of its bulkheads and water-tight compartments. A man-of-war, built on the latest models, has a great many small water-tight compartments, for she is meant to be able to continue fighting even after several of these compartments have been destroyed; whereas, an ocean steamer is so constructed that she will remain afloat only a short time after a collision with another ship, or if she runs into an iceberg or a derelict, she can endure a certain intake of water, and lists at a moderate angle far more readily than a warship, whose guns are rendered nearly useless if the ship is heavily canting. A warship must be built so as to withstand, without sinking, the injury caused by a number of gun holes even beneath the water line, where the inner part of the ship must necessarily be subdivided into many parts. A warship is built at great cost, but so is an ocean steamer. The sunken "Lusitania" was worth 35,000,000 marks (nearly $9,000,000) and the mammoth steamers of the Hamburg-American Line, the "Imperator," the "Vaterland," were still more expensive to build.

The ordinary commercial steamer often has in her inner construction only athwartship bulkheads through the double bottom that run from one side to another and form large partitions; and in proportion to her height a steamer is again subdivided horizontally into several decks. But these are not usually water-tight, and the cross bulkheads already mentioned form the only water-tight divisions in the hold. In the big cargo spaces, these divisions practically do not exist, and the ship, throughout almost its whole interior, is open from keel to deck. This arrangement, of course, facilitates the rapid loading and unloading of the cargo; therefore, in this type of ship the engine rooms and boilers, surrounded and protected by coal bunkers, are the only really water-tight portions of the ship. Whoever has gazed down into the capacious hold of such a steamer will readily understand that if the water should pour into one of these spaces, at either end of the ship, the other end of the vessel would rise steadily upwards. In nearly every case, even the largest steamer, just before sinking, tilts abruptly its bow or stern straight up out of the sea, until the water rushing into the hold draws the vessel downwards, and with a mighty roar it plunges forever into the deep. We have repeatedly noticed at this moment that the air within the boat escapes with a shrill whistle from every possible aperture, and the sound resembles the shriek of a steam siren. This is a wonderful spectacle to behold!

The velocity with which a ship sinks depends on the size of the hold, and its distance from the ship's center of gravity, for the suction occurs more rapidly if the ship is struck at either end than if the blow is delivered amidships.

We are seldom concerned with ships having empty holds; those we pursue usually carry heavy cargoes, and therefore the water can only penetrate within, where space and air exist; whatever air is left around loosely packed bales and boxes must be driven out before the water can stream in; certain exceptional cargoes, like wool and cereals, absorb a given amount of water, but these can be discounted.



Accordingly the air must escape through existing holes, as the water pouring in drives the air into the hold; the pressure with which the water comes in is equal to the air pressure in the hold. It is quite conceivable that a cargo may be so closely packed that there will be no space left for air to escape, but this is hardly ever the case; frequently, however, the cross-sections of the air vents are so small that the air escapes only very slowly, and the water enters very slowly in the same ratio; under these conditions it would take a long time for a ship to sink. This undoubtedly is very desirable in peace time, but in time of war this is not at all agreeable to our purpose; first, if the foundering of the vessel is prolonged we are prevented from accomplishing other work, and secondly, warships may come to the assistance of a sinking steamer.

Whenever possible we found it expedient to break open with an axe big holes in the lockers in case the hatch could not be quickly enough removed; or, if circumstances did not permit of our doing this, we shot holes with our cannon into the upper part of the steamer, above the hold, so that the air might conveniently escape and the water rush in. We employed, with excellent results, this method in the sinking of many steamers which otherwise would have settled too slowly.

It happens sometimes that a ship may carry a cargo that floats and that is not porous, such as wood. It is impossible to sink a vessel with such a cargo by admitting water into the hold. Shots therefore must be fired at the engine and boiler rooms to force this kind of a steamer to sink. In general this is a safe rule to follow, for these are always the most vulnerable portions of every heavily laden vessel, and this mode of attack is nearly invariably successful.

A warship is usually equipped with cross or lateral bulkheads, in addition to the longitudinal bulkhead that runs from stem to stern through the middle of the ship, dividing it into halves, and other bulkheads separate these two longitudinal sections into further subdivisions. With the exception of the great fast passenger steamers, these divisions by means of longitudinal bulkheads seldom exist on vessels of commerce, although exceptions are to be found.

The sinking of a steamer with a multitude of partitions is effected by its gradually listing more and more on the side in which the water is penetrating, until it capsizes completely and founders with the keel uppermost. A ship can also roll over on its side as it plunges downwards with stem or stern erect.

Theoretically a vessel might sink on a parallel keel, descending horizontally deeper and deeper into the sea; but it never occurs in reality. This hypothesis assumes that a ship has taken in at the bow exactly the same amount of water as at the stern, at exactly the same distance from the center of gravity; this, of course, is impossible; besides the holes through which the water is pouring in must also be at precisely the same level, or else the water pressure would be greater at one end than at the other, and the slightest alteration of level would occasion a greater intake of water and upset the equilibrium of the boat.

There is one other point I will touch upon; it has often been asserted, especially in romances of the ocean, that as a ship sinks the suction creates a tremendous whirlpool which engulfs all things in its vicinity. This statement is naturally very much exaggerated. People swimming about may be drawn down by the suction of the foundering ship, but in my opinion no lifeboat which is well manned is in danger of this whirlpool. Even old sailors, deluded by this superstition, have rowed away in haste from a sinking ship, when they might have stood by and saved many lives.

The question is now often being put, whether it will be possible to raise the vessels that have been sunk during the war. The raising of a ship depends above all upon whether the depth at which it lies is so great that it precludes the work of a diver.

I have already stated that the water pressure augments at the rate of one atmosphere (one kilogram to the square centimeter) to ten meters' increase of depth. If a diver working at ten meters' depth is under a pressure of one atmosphere, at fifty meters he will be under the tremendous pressure of five atmospheres. This is the greatest depth to which a diver can attain, and if by chance a diver has gone a few meters beyond fifty meters, no man to my knowledge has attained sixty meters. The work of divers at a depth of forty or fifty meters is even then not very effective, as they are unable to perform heavy tasks, nor can they remain more than half an hour at a time under such a pressure, and I am speaking now only of experts; therefore only light and easy work can be performed by most divers at a great depth and the appliance of ponderous chains for lifting purposes can only be accomplished under unusually favorable conditions. To raise any ship at a depth above thirty meters must be considered as a very efficient job, whereas if this is attempted at a depth below thirty meters it can be done only by salvage companies where neither unfavorable bottom obstacles nor currents intervene. A strong current renders a diver's work impossible, for it carries him off his feet.

On the high seas the currents change with the ebb and flood. At the precise moment of the turn of the tide the undercurrent is supposed to be nil, and the diver must take advantage of this moment to perform his task. Another difficulty arises from the sand being shifted by the currents, and settling on the prominent parts of a wreck; it often envelops them to such a degree that the ship becomes so deeply embedded in the sand that it is no longer salvable.

According to my estimation eighty per cent of our enemy's sunken ships lie from fifty to a hundred meters below the surface of the sea, so that all possibility of their being raised is excluded. The largest ships nowadays have a draft of less than ten meters, and as the vessels sunk lie at far greater depths they are no source of danger to shipping in time of peace. Of the remaining twenty per cent of sunken ships half of them are unreclaimable, either owing to their position, or owing to the high cost of salvage, or because it is not even known where they lie. The other half or last ten per cent have probably for the greater part been sunk in channels where the currents are so swift that they are covered with sand, and diving enterprises are out of the question. In time of war such work cannot be thought of; after the war the ships will long since have been completely buried by the sand.

Maybe off the east coast of England one or two ships may be raised, for they lie at a lesser depth and are exposed to slighter currents than on the south coast of England, but in that district only the smaller and more insignificant vessels have been sunk, and it would hardly pay to raise them, especially as they are so damaged by torpedoes and mines that they would probably fall apart on being raised to the surface.

Therefore hardly a single ship will be salvaged, and the sea will retain all those ships it has swallowed in the course of this war carried on by all the nations of the earth.

THE END

The Riverside Press CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS U . S . A

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- Typographical errors corrected in text: Page 1: VAN FORSTNER replaced with VON FORSTNER Unusual words: Page 134: salvable (adj.) means that can be salvaged or saved -

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ERRATUM

In Introduction, page xxi, line 6 from the bottom, for "1915" read "1916."

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