INTRODUCTION
It was in the spring of 1918 that the United States submarine X-111 was launched upon its adventurous career. The German commerce raiders had now reached the height of their effectiveness; almost daily they were taking their toll of luckless seamen and provision-laden steamers; and the United States government, in alarm that was never officially admitted, had resolved upon desperate measures. The result was the X-111. The first of a fleet of undersea craft, this vessel was constructed upon lines never before attempted. Not only was it exceedingly long (being about two hundred feet from stem to stern), but it was excessively narrow, and a man had to be short indeed to stand upright within it on its single deck without coming into contact with the arching ceiling. The ship, in fact, was nothing more nor less than a long pipe-like tube of reinforced steel, able to cleave the water at tremendous speed and ram and destroy any enemy by ramming it with its beak-like prow. But this was only its slightest point of novelty. At both ends and at several points along the sides it was equipped with water-piercing searchlights of a power never before known (the creation of Walter Tamrock, the Kansas inventor who lost his life in the war); and it was provided with a series of air-tight and water-proof compartments, any one of which might be pierced without seriously injuring the vessel as a whole. Hence the X-111 was generally known as unsinkable, and upon it the American officials fastened their hopes of abating the nuisance of the enemy “U-boat.”
The sinking of this “unsinkable” vessel is now of course a matter of history. Close observers of naval events will recall how, in May, 1918, the newspapers reported the disappearance of another United States submarine. All that was known with certainty was, that the ship had been commissioned to the danger zone; that it had failed to return to its base at the expected time, and that the passing days brought no news of it; that wireless messages and searching expeditions alike proved unavailing, and that it was two months before the only clue as to its fate was found. Then it was that a British destroyer, on scout duty in the North Sea, picked up a drifting life preserver bearing the imprint “X-111.” For strategic reasons, this fact was not divulged until much later, and for strategic reasons it was not made known that the missing submarine was of a new and previously untried type; but the mystery of the X-111’s disappearance weighed heavily upon the minds of naval officials, and secretly they resolved upon immediate and exhaustive investigation. All in vain. Not a trace of the lost ship or of the thirty-nine members of its crew could be found; not a scrap of the usual drifting flotsam or wreckage could be picked up anywhere on the sea; and at last it was admitted in despair that the waters would perhaps guard their secret forever.
Seven years went by. Peace had long since returned, and the X-111 and its tragedy had been forgotten except by a few relatives of the unfortunate thirty-nine. Then suddenly the mystery was fanned into vivid life again. A bearded man, with a strange greenish complexion and eyes that blinked oddly beneath wide, colored glasses, appeared at the offices of the Navy department at Washington and claimed to be one of the company of the X-111. At first, of course, he was merely laughed at as a madman, and could induce no one to listen to him seriously; but he was so persistent in his pleas, and so anxious to give proof of his identity, that a few began to suspect that there might be some shadow of truth to his claims after all. Half-heartedly, an investigation was undertaken—and with results that left the world gaping in amazement! The testimony of a dozen witnesses, as well as the unmistakable evidence of finger-prints and handwriting, proved that the wild-looking stranger was none other than Anson Harkness, Ensign on the ill-starred X-111, long mourned as dead. Now, for the first time, the truth about the disappearance of that remarkable vessel was to be made known; and the eager public was treated to a story so extraordinary that only irrefutable evidence could make it seem credible. It is safe to say that never, since Columbus returned to Spain with the news of his discoveries in seeking a western route to the far East, had any mariner delivered to his people a revelation so unexampled and marvelous.
But while numerous accounts of the great discovery are extant, and while the furore of discussion over the newspaper articles and interviews shows no sign of waning, the public has yet to read the tale in the words of Harkness himself. And it is for this reason that the accompanying history, to which Harkness has devoted himself ever since his return from exile, possesses a peculiar and timely interest. Harkness has described, unaffectedly and sincerely, the most perilous exploits which any man has ever survived. Hence the following pages should prove entertaining not only to the student of world events, but to that larger public which finds value in a rare and stirring bit of autobiography.
Stanton A. Coblentz,
(New York, 1928.)