III

THE SINKING OF THE TRANSPORT

Soon the outlines of a ship told us that ahead of us was a large steamer, steaming westward at high speed. The disappointment which we experienced at first was soon reversed when it was clearly shown that the fortunes of war had again sent a ship across our course which belonged to a hostile power.

No flag could be seen—nor was it run up. Otherwise we would have seen it.

“This is a suspicious circumstance,” I reasoned with myself.

I called down to the “Centrale” all my observations through the periscope at regular intervals, snapping them out in the same sharp, brief style that the newsboys use in calling out the headlines to the listening public. My words were passed in whispers from mouth to mouth until all hands on board knew what was going on above the surface. Each new announcement from the conning tower caused great excitement among the crew, listening and holding their breath and, I believe, if you could measure the tension on human nerves with a barometer, it would have registered to the end of the tube, when, like hammer beats, these words went down to the “Centrale”:

“The steamer’s armed! Take a look, mate.”

I stepped away from the sights of the periscope. “Can you see the gun mounted forward of the bridge?”

“Yes, certainly,” he replied excitedly. “I can see it, and quite a large piece it is, too.”

“Now take a look at her stern—right by the second mast—what do you notice there?”

“Thousand devils! Another cannon—at least a ten-centimeter gun. It’s a transport, sure.”

“Drop the periscope! Port ten!” I commanded.

“Torpedo tube ready!” reported the torpedo master through the tube from the forward torpedo compartment.

By this time I had the periscope submerged so that we were completely below the surface and out of sight, and it would be impossible to discover us from the steamer, even after the most careful searching of the horizon.

“Advance on the enemy!” was our determination.

Oh, what a glorious sensation is a U-boat attack! What a great understanding and coöperation between a U-boat and its crew—between dead matter and living beings! What a merging into a single being, of the nerves and spirits of an entire crew!

“Just as if the whole boat is as one being,” was the thought that passed through my mind when I, with periscope down, went at my antagonist, just like a great crouching cat with her back bowed and her hair on end, ready to spring. The eye is the periscope, the brain the conning tower, the heart the “Centrale,” the legs the engines, and the teeth and claws the torpedoes.

Noiselessly we slipped closer and closer in our exciting chase. The main thing was that our periscope should not be observed, or the steamer might change her course at the last moment and escape us. Very cautiously, I stuck just the tip of the periscope above the surface at intervals of a few minutes, took the position of the steamer in a second and, like a flash, pulled it down again. That second was sufficient for me to see what I wanted to see. The steamer was to starboard and was heading at a good speed across our bows. To judge from the foaming waves which were cut off from the bow, I calculated that her speed must be about sixteen knots.

The hunter knows how important it is to have a knowledge of the speed at which his prey is moving. He can calculate the speed a little closer when it is a wounded hare than when it is one which in flight rushes past at high speed.

It was only necessary for me, therefore, to calculate the speed of the ship for which a sailor has an experienced eye. I then plotted the exact angle we needed. I measured this by a scale which had been placed above the sights of the periscope. Now I only had to let the steamer come along until it had reached the zero point on the periscope and fire the torpedo, which then must strike its mark.

You see, it is very plain; I estimate the speed of the boat, aim with the periscope and fire at the right moment.

He who wishes to know about this or anything else in this connection should join the navy, or if he is not able to do so, send us his son or brother or nephew.

On the occasion in question everything went as calculated. The steamer could not see our cautious and hardly-shown periscope and continued unconcerned on its course. The diving rudder in the “Centrale” worked well and greatly facilitated my unobserved approach. I could clearly distinguish the various objects on board, and saw the giant steamer at a very short distance—how the captain was walking back and forth on the bridge with a short pipe in his mouth, how the crew was scrubbing the forward deck. I saw with amazement—a shiver went through me—a long line of compartments of wood spread over the entire deck, out of which were sticking black and brown horse heads and necks.

Oh, great Scott! Horses! What a pity! Splendid animals!

“What has that to do with it?” I continually thought. War is war. And every horse less on the western front is to lessen England’s defense. I have to admit, however, that the thought which had to come was disgusting, and I wish to make the story about it short.

Only a few degrees were lacking for the desired angle, and soon the steamer would get into the correct focus. It was passing us at the right distance, a few hundred meters.

“Torpedo ready!” I called down into the “Centrale.”

It was the longed-for command. Every one on board held his breath. Now the steamer’s bow cut the line in the periscope—now the deck, the bridge, the foremast—the funnel.

“Let go!”

A light trembling shook the boat—the torpedo was on its way. Woe, when it was let loose!

There it was speeding, the murderous projectile, with an insane speed straight at its prey. I could accurately follow its path by the light wake it left in the water.

“Twenty seconds,” counted the mate whose duty it was, with watch in hand, to calculate the exact time elapsed after the torpedo was fired until it exploded.

“Twenty-two seconds!”

Now it must happen—the terrible thing!

I saw the ship’s people on the bridge had discovered the wake which the torpedo was leaving, a slender stripe. How they pointed with their fingers out across the sea in terror; how the captain, covering his face with his hands, resigned himself to what must come. And next there was a terrific shaking so that all aboard the steamer were tossed about and then, like a volcano, arose, majestic but fearful in its beauty, a two-hundred meter high and fifty-meter wide pillar of water toward the sky.

“A full hit behind the second funnel!” I called down into the “Centrale.” Then they cut loose down there for joy. They were carried away by ecstasy which welled out of their hearts, a joyous storm that ran through our entire boat and up to me.

And over there?

Landlubber, steel thy heart!

A terrible drama was being enacted on the hard-hit sinking ship. It listed and sank towards us.

From the tower I could observe all the decks. From all the hatches human beings forced their way out, fighting despairingly. Russian firemen, officers, sailors, soldiers, hostlers, the kitchen crew, all were running and calling for the boats. Panic stricken, they thronged about one another down the stairways, fighting for the lifeboats, and among all were the rearing, snorting and kicking horses. The boats on the starboard deck could not be put into service, as they could not be swung clear because of the list of the careening steamer. All, therefore, thronged to the boats on the port side, which, in the haste and anguish, were lowered, some half empty; others overcrowded. Those who were left aboard were wringing their hands in despair. They ran from bow to stern and back again from stern to bow in their terror, and then finally threw themselves into the sea in order to attempt to swim to the boats.

Then another explosion resounded, after which a hissing white wave of steam streamed out of all the ports. The hot steam set the horses crazy, and they were beside themselves with terror—I could see a splendid, dapple-gray horse with a long tail make a great leap over the ship’s side and land in a lifeboat, already overcrowded—but after that I could not endure the terrible spectacle any longer. Pulling down the periscope, we submerged into the deep.

When, after some time, I came again to the surface there was nothing more to be seen of the great, proud steamer. Among the wreckage and corpses of the horses three boats were floating and occasionally fished out a man still swimming in the sea. Now I came up on the surface in order to assist the victims of the wrecked ship. When our boat’s mighty, whale-like hull suddenly arose out of the water, right in their midst, a panic seized them again and quickly they grasped their oars in order to try to flee. Not until I waved from the tower to them with my handkerchief and cap did they rest on their oars and come over to us. The state in which some of them were was exceedingly pitiful. Several wore only white cotton trousers and had handkerchiefs wrapped around their necks. The fixed provisions which each boat was required to carry were not sufficient when the boat’s crew was doubled and trebled.

While I was conferring with our mess officer as to what we could possibly dispense with of our own provisions we noticed to the north and west some clouds of smoke which, to judge from the signs, were coming towards us quickly. Immediately a thought flashed through my head:

“Now they are looking for you. Now comes the whole swarm.”

Already the typical masts of the British destroyers and trawlers arose above the horizon. We, therefore, did not have a minute to lose in order to escape these hostile and most dangerous enemies. I made my decision quickly and called to the captain of the sunken steamer that he could let one of the oncoming ships pick them up as I could not spare the time, but had to go “northeast.” Then I submerged—right in front of the boats full of survivors. They saw me head north and I steered in that direction for a time. Then I pulled down the periscope and, without being noticed, changed my course to the south.

When I, after a considerable time, again cautiously looked around, I perceived to my amazement that an entire scout fleet in a wide circle was heading towards us from the south also. From three sides the enemy spurred his bloodhounds on us, and I thought to myself it would not take long before, by extending their wings, they would encircle us completely, and the great chase would begin. The thought was not cheerful, particularly as the depths in this part of the ocean were not sufficient so that we could, by submerging deeply, guard ourselves against the dangers of grappling hooks, nets and mines.

“The wildcat has become a hare,” I thought to myself and, at the same time, I decided what to do.

We had to do as the old hare. First, with eyes open, we would cautiously jump forth, use all possible covers, and search for the spot where the gunners were fewest, and then with eyes shut and at the highest possible speed break through the widest gap.

Consequently, we began to travel toward the east where the “atmosphere was still clear.” Occasionally I stuck up my periscope and perceived how the surrounding circle was knit tighter and tighter. Now, after I had made up my mind, I became completely calm and carefully considered all the conditions for and against us. The swarm of destroyers moved toward the center, as in a regular chase, as soon as the circle was complete. Between every couple of hunters—I mean trawlers—there were nets stretched across to catch a little submarine, and behind these were dragged mines.

By extending one of the wings in the north, it made a gap toward the east, and besides I saw that one of the torpedo boats between two groups of the searching parties had left for the shipwrecked survivors. At this point, consequently, was our best chance to escape. I laid my course between the two searching parties, of course, with the periscope, during the whole time, nearly invisible.

Slowly the ranks of the hunting hounds approached, smoking copiously and snorting. Now the right moment had arrived to follow the other part of the hare’s program. We shut our eyes—that is, I pulled the periscope down completely—and proceeded with increased speed, submerging in the sea as deeply as possible.

I can well imagine how the old hare felt when he ran blindly for his life. Undoubtedly our feelings were somewhat the same. How easily could not that little gap toward which we were making be closed by some small auxiliary of the searchers.

And, if the grappling hooks from one of these got hold of us, there would be little hope of escape, or of saving ourselves. Then they would tear at us from all directions and give us the stab that would send us deep down into the sea for good. No one on board suspected what danger we went to meet. I had kept all my observations concerning the enemy’s surrounding us to myself and had not mentioned it, so as not to excite everybody’s mind. No one below could at any rate do anything to change the conditions.

Then from the bow compartment came the report:

“The beating of propellers is discernible to port!”

Shortly thereafter I could hear them, even from the conning tower—a soft, slow, swelling, and grinding sound. This was not the sound of the propellers of a destroyer. Such would beat faster, clearer, and more powerfully. This was the heavily-dragging trawlers’ slow beating propellers.

Strainingly I listened to starboard—nothing could be heard. That was a good sign, because I could hope that in reality I had reached the gap and that the sounds of the propellers which we heard to port emanated from the trawler on the left side of the gap. I was just about, from my innermost heart, to let out a joyous “hurrah,” when, from the bow of the boat, I heard a new sound which approached with a clear, sharp banging. It was the torpedo-boat, the beast! Was the rascal going to come back at the crucial moment?

It required only a few seconds for the torpedo-boat to pass over us, but those seemed as hours. At every blinking of the eye I imagined I heard something explode, turn against or drag alongside my boat. But fortune was ours. The sharp, grinding sound of the swift torpedo-boat propellers became fainter and fainter and, at last, ceased entirely. Unconsciously I straightened up a little in the tower, whistled a few notes from “Dockan,” and tapped, as if nothing had happened, with the knuckle of my forefinger on the glass of the manometer. What did the manometer register? Nothing whatsoever had happened. Everything was in the best condition. The depth coincided. The diving rudder was lying normal. Before me stood Tuczynski, my faithful helmsman and orderly, at former times skipper on the Weichsel and Nogat; behind me, the mate leaned against the wall of the conning tower contentedly and yawned.

I suddenly felt an unresistible craving for a cigarette. The nerves needed some stimulation. For about ten minutes I controlled myself. Then I arose to a periscope distance from the surface and took a look around to see how things were going. What I saw filled my heart with joy. The whole swarm of British destroyers and trawlers had moved toward the southwest and were eagerly searching in a long line. As we were proceeding in an opposite direction we quickly left them. After about five more minutes I would dare to come to the surface. To the north the way was clear.

Soon I was sitting, in the best of spirits, up in the conning tower, greedily inhaling with both lungs the fine, refreshing sea air and, mixed with it, the long puffs of the cigarette.