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-coloured 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-coloured 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!
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 82½ 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.
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 protégé 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 127½ 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.
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 Canstätter 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 fête, 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 niggers, who were closely watched for the least sign of observation powers or other dangerous faculties. Moreover, the niggers 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 niggers 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.
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 16½ 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; 16½ 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 17½, 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, 16½ 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 27½ 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.