The Diary of a U boat Commander by Anon

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I have wired to the little mother at Frankfurt.

* * * * *

_At Zeebrugge, or rather Bruges._

I spent three weeks at home, all the family are pleased except mother;
she has a woman's dread of danger; it is a pleasing characteristic in
peace time, but a cloy on pleasure in days of war. To her, with the
narrowness of a female's intellect, I really believe I am of more
importance than the Fatherland--how absurd. Whilst at Frankfurt I saw a
good deal of Rosa; she seems better looking each time I meet her;
doubtless she is still developing to full womanhood. Moritz was home
from Flanders. He had ten days' leave from Ypres, and, though I have a
dislike for him, he certainly was interesting, though why the English
cling to those wretched ruins is more than I can understand.

I felt instinctively that in a sense Moritz and I were rivals where
Rosa was concerned, though I have never considered her in that
light--as yet. One day, perhaps? These women are much the same
everywhere, and I could see that having entered the U-boat service made
a difference with Rosa, though her logic should have told her that I
was no different. But is that right? After all, it is something to have
joined this service; the Guards themselves have no better cachet, and
it is certainly cheaper.

Here we live in billets and in a commandeered hotel. The life ashore is
pleasant enough; the damned Belgians are sometimes sulky, but they know
who is master. Bissing (a splendid chap) sees to that.

As a matter of fact we have benefited them by our occupation, the shops
do a roaring trade at preposterous prices, and shamefully enough the
German shopkeepers are most guilty. These pot-bellied merchants don't
seem to realize that they exist owing to our exertions.

I was much struck with the beautiful orderliness of the small gardens
which we have laid out since 1914, and, in fact, wherever one looks
there is evidence of the genius of the German race for thorough
organization. Yet these Belgians don't seem to appreciate it. I can't
understand it.

I find here that social life is very much gayer than at that mad town
of Wilhelmshaven. At the High Seas Fleet bases there was the strictness
and austerity that some people seem to consider necessary to show that
we are at war, though Heaven knows there was precious little war in the
High Seas Fleet; perhaps that was why the "blood and iron" régime was
in full order ashore. Here, in Bruges, at any rate as far as the
submarine officers are concerned, the matter is far different. When the
boats are in, one seems to do as one likes, with a perfunctory visit to
the ship in the course of the day.

Witnitz (the Commodore) favours complete relaxation when in from a
trip. In the evenings there are parties, for which there are always
ladies, and I find it is necessary to have a "smoking."[1] I went to
the best tailor to buy one, and found that I must have one made at the
damnable price of 140 marks; the fitter, an oily Jew, had the
incredible impertinence to assure me it would be cut on London lines!

[Footnote 1: A dinner jacket.]

I nearly felled him to the ground; can one never get away from England
and things English? I'll see his account waits a bit before I settle
it.

There are several fellows I know here. Karl Müller, who was 3rd
watchkeeper in the _Yorck_, and Adolf Hilfsbaumer, who was captain of
G.176, are the two I know best. They are both doing a few trips as
second in commands of the later U.C. boats, which are mine-laying off
the English coasts. This is a most dangerous operation, and nearly all
the U.C. boats are commanded by reserve officers, of whom there are a
good many in the Mess.

Excellent fellows, no doubt, but somewhat uncouth and lacking the finer
points of breeding; as far as I can see in the short time I have been
here they keep themselves to themselves a good deal. I certainly don't
wish to mix with them. Unfortunately, it appears that I am almost bound
to be appointed as second in command of one of the U.C. boats, for at
least one trip before I go to the periscope school and train for a
command of my own. The idea of being bottled up in an elongated cigar
and under the command of one of those nautical plough-boys is
repellent. However, the Von Schenks have never been too proud to obey
in order to learn how to command.

* * * * *

I have been appointed second in command to U.C.47. Her captain is one
Max Alten by name. Beyond the fact that I saw him drunk one night in
the Mess I know nothing of him.

I reported to him and he seems rather in awe of me. His fears are
groundless.

I shall make it as easy as possible for him, for it must be as awkward
for him as it is unpleasant for me.

To celebrate my proper entry into the U-boat service, I gave a dinner
party last night in a private room at "Le Coq d'Or." I asked Karl and
Adolf, and told them to bring three girls. My opposite number was a
lovely girl called Zoe something or other. I wore my "smoking" for the
first time; it is certainly a becoming costume.

We drank a good deal of champagne and had a very pleasant little
debauch; the girls got very merry, and I kissed Zoe once. She was not
very angry. I think she is thoroughly charming, and I have accepted an
invitation to take tea at her flat. She is either the wife or the chère
amie of a colonel in the Brandenburgers, I could not make out which.
Luckily the gallant "Cockchafer" is at the moment on the La Bassée
sector, where I was interested to observe that heavy fighting has
broken out to-day. I must console the fair Zoe!

Both Karl and Adolf got rather drunk, Adolf hopelessly so, but I, as
usual, was hardly affected. I have a head of iron, provided the liquor
is good, and _I_ saw to that point.

* * * * *

We were sailing, or rather going down the canal to Zeebrugge on Friday,
but the starting resistance of the port main motor burnt out and we
were delayed till Sunday, as they will fit a new one.

I must confess the organization for repair work here is admirable, as
very little is done by the crews in the U-boats, all work being carried
out by the permanent staff, who are quartered at Bruges docks. Taking
advantage of the delay I called on Zoe Stein, as I find she is named.

It appears she is _not_ married to Colonel Stein. She told me he was
fat and ugly, and laughed a good deal about him. She showed me his
photograph, and certainly he is no beauty. However, he must be a man of
means, as he has given her a charming flat, beautifully decorated with
water-colours which the Colonel salved from the French château in the
early days--these army fellows had all the chances.

I bade an affectionate farewell to Zoe, and I trust Stein will be still
busily engaged at La Bassée when I return in a fortnight's time! I am
greatly obliged to Karl for the introduction, and told him so; he
himself is running after a little grass widow whose husband has been
missing for some months. I think Karl finds it an expensive game;
luckily Zoe seems well supplied with money--the essential ingredient in
a joyous life.

On Friday night we had an air-raid--a frequent event here, but my first
experience in this line. Unpleasant, but a fine spectacle, considerable
damage done near the docks and an unexploded bomb fell in a street near
our headquarters.

Two machines (British) brought down in flames. I saw the green balls
[1] for the first time. A most fascinating sight to see them floating
up in waving chains into the vault of heaven; they reminded me of
making daisy chains as a child.

[Footnote 1: Known as "Flying-onions."]

_At Zeebrugge_.

We are alongside the mole in one of the new submarine shelters that has
been built.

The boat is under a concrete roof over three feet thick, which would
defy the heaviest bomb.

We have much improved the port since our arrival. The port, so-called,
is purely artificial, and actually consists of a long mole with a
gentle curve in it, which reaches out to seaward and protects the mouth
of the canal. The tides are very strong up and down the coast, and
constant dredging is carried out to keep 20 feet of water over the sill
at the lock gates.

On arrival last night we went straight into No. 11 shelter, as an
air-raid was expected, but nothing happened, so I went up to the
"Flandre," which seems to be the best hotel here, full of submarine
people, and I heard many interesting stories. There seems no doubt this
U-boat war is dangerous work; I find the U.C. boats are beginning to be
called the Suicide Club, after the famous English story of that name,
which, curiously enough, I saw on the kinematograph at Frankfurt last
leave. We Germans are extraordinarily broad-minded; I doubt if the
works of German authors are seen on the screens in England or France.

The news from the West is good, the English are hurling themselves to
destruction against our steel front. We are now to load up with mines.
I must stop writing to superintend this work.

_At sea. Near the South Dogger Light._

We loaded up the ten mines we carry in an hour and five minutes. They
were lifted from a railway truck by a big crane and delicately lowered
into the mine tubes, of which we have five in the bows.

The tubes extend from the upper deck of the ship to her keel, and slope
aft to facilitate release. Having completed with fuel at Bruges, we
took in a store of provisions and Alten went up to the Commodore's
office to get our sailing orders.

We sailed at 6 p.m. and at last I felt I was off. To-day, the 22nd, we
are just north of the South Dogger, steering north-westerly at 9-1/2
knots.

The sea is quite calm and everything is very pleasant. Our mission is
to lay a small minefield off Newcastle in the East Coast war channel. I
have, of course, never been to sea for any length of time in a U-boat,
and it is all very novel.

I find the roar of the Diesel engine very relentless, and last night
slept badly in a wretched bunk, which was a poor substitute for my
lovely quarters in the barracks at Wilhelmshaven. One thing I
appreciate, and that is the food; it is really excellent: fresh milk,
fresh butter, white bread and many other luxuries.

I have spent most of the day picking up things about the boat. Her
general arrangement is as follows:

Starting in the bows, mine tubes occupy the centre of the boat, leaving
two narrow passages, one each side. In the port passage is the wireless
cabinet and signal flag lockers, with store rooms underneath. In the
starboard passage are one or two small pumps and the kitchen.

The next compartment contains four bunks, two each side, these are
occupied by Alten, myself, the engineer, and the Navigating Warrant
Officer. Proceeding further aft one enters the control room, in which
one periscope is situated, and the necessary valves and pumps for
diving the boat.

The next compartment is the crew space; ten of the company exist here.

Overhead on each side is the gear for releasing the torpedoes from the
external torpedo tubes, of which we carry one each side. I think we
borrowed this idea from the Russians.

Then comes the engine-room, an inferno of rattling noises, but
excellent engines, I believe. At the after end of the engine-room are
the two main switchboards, of whose manner of working I am at present
in some ignorance.

The two main sets of electric motors are underneath the boards, in the
stern, where we have a third torpedo tube.

* * * * *

I had hardly written the above words when a message came that the
captain would like me to come to the bridge.

I went up in a leisurely fashion, through the conning tower, which is
over the control room, and reported myself. He indicated a low-lying
patch of smoke on the horizon far away on the starboard bow. I was
obliged to confess that it conveyed nothing to me, when he aroused my
intense interest by stating that it was, without doubt, being emitted
from a British submarine, who are known to frequent these waters. He
was proceeding away from us, and was, even then, six or seven miles
away, so an attack was out of the question. The engineer, who had
joined us, drew my attention to the thin wisp of almost invisible
blue-grey smoke from our own stern. The contrast was certainly
striking!

Over dinner I gave it as my opinion that the British boats were pretty
useless. Alten would not agree, and stated that, though in certain
technical aspects they were in a position of inferiority, yet in
personnel and skill in attacking they were fully our equals. He seemed
to hold them in considerable respect, and he remarked that, when making
a passage, he was more anxious on their account than in any other way.
He informed me that, on the last passage he made, he was attacked by a
British boat which he never saw, the only indication he received being
a torpedo which jumped out of the water almost over his tail. Luckily
it was very rough at the time, which made the torpedo run erratically,
otherwise they would undoubtedly have been hit.

What appeared to astonish him was the fact that the British boat had
been able to make an attack in such weather. We are now charging on one
engine, 500 amperes on each half-battery.

* * * * *

We are due back at Zeebrugge at 10 p.m. to-night. We should have been
in at dawn to-day, but we received a wireless from the senior officer,
Zeebrugge, to say that mine-laying was suspected, and we were to wait
till the "Q.R." channel, from the Blankenberg buoy, had been swept. We
lay in the bottom for eight hours, a few miles from the western end of
the channel.

Our trip was quite successful, but not without certain excitements.

On the night of the 23rd we passed fairly close to a fishing fleet on
the Dogger Bank, and saw the lights of several steamers in the
distance. As our first business was to lay our mines in the appointed
place, we did not worry them.

We burnt usual navigation lights, or rather side lights which appear to
be usual, except that, by a little fitting which Alten has made
himself, the arcs of bearing on which the lights show can be changed at
will. His idea is that, should we appear to be approaching a steamer
which he wishes to avoid, in many cases, by shining a little more or
less red and green light, we can make her think that we are a steamer
on such a course that it is her duty by the rules of the road to keep
clear of us.

He tells me it has worked on several occasions, and he has also found
it useful to have two small auxiliary side lights fitted which are the
wrong colours for the sides they are on. It is, of course, only neutral
shipping which carry lights nowadays, though Alten says that many
British ships are still incredibly careless in the matter of lights.

However, to resume my account of what happened. We reached our position
at dawn or slightly after, the weather was beautifully calm and the sea
like glass. As we were only three miles from the English coast, and
close to the mouth of the Tyne, we were extraordinarily lucky to have
nothing in sight, if one excepts a long smudge of smoke which trailed
across the horizon to the southward.

The land itself was obscured by early morning banks of mist, yet
everything was so still that we actually faintly heard the whistle of a
train. I could hardly restrain from suggesting to Alten that we should
elevate the 10-cm. gun to fifteen degrees and fire a few rounds on to
"proud Albion's virgin shores," but I did not do so as I felt fairly
certain that he would not approve, and I do not wish to lay myself open
to rebuffs from him after his behaviour concerning the smoking
incident. I boil with rage at the thought, but again I digress.

The fact that the land was obscured was favourable from the point of
view that we were not worried by coast watchers, but unfavourable from
the standpoint that we were unable to take bearings of anything and so
ascertain our exact position.

The importance of this point in submarine mine-laying is obvious, for,
owing to our small cargo of eggs, it is quite possible that we may be
sent here again, to lay an adjacent field, in which case it is highly
desirable to know the exact position of one's previous effort.

[Illustration: "Steering north-westerly...; to lay a small minefield
off Newcastle."]

[Illustration: "He had suddenly seen the bow waves of a destroyer
approaching at full speed to ram."]

We were somewhat assisted in our efforts to locate ourselves by the
fact that a seven-fathom patch existed exactly where we had to lay. We
picked up the edge of this bank with our sounding machine, and steering
north half a mile, laid our mines in latitude--No! on second thoughts I
will omit the precise position, for, though I shall take every
precaution, there is no saying that through some misfortune this
Journal might not get into the wrong hands.

I am very glad I decided to keep these notes, as I shall take much
pleasure in reading them when Victory crowns our efforts and the joys
of a peaceful life return.

I found it a delightful sensation being so close to the enemy coast, in
his territorial waters, in fact. For the first time since the Skajerack
battle I experienced the personal joys of war, the sensation of
intimate and successful contact with the enemy, and the most hated
enemy at that.

We had hardly finished laying our eggs when a droning noise was heard.
With marvellous celerity we dived, that damned fellow Alten, who, under
these circumstances leaves the bridge last, treading on my fingers as
he followed me down the conning tower ladder.

The engineer endeavoured to sympathize with me, and made some idiotic
remark about my being quicker when I had had more practice. I bit his
head off. I can't stand this hail-fellow-well-met attitude in these
U.C. boats, from any lout dressed in an officer's uniform. They
wouldn't be holding commissions if it wasn't for the war, and they
should remember that fact. I suppose they think I'm stand-offish. Well,
if they had my family tree behind them they would understand.

We dived to sixty feet, and then came up to twenty. Alten looked
through the periscope, and then invited me to look. Curiosity impelled
me to accept this favour and, putting the focussing lever to
"skyscrape" I swept round the sky.

At last I saw him; he was a small gas-bag of diminutive size, beneath
which was suspended a little car, the most ridiculous little travesty
of an airship I have ever seen. He was nosing along at about 800 feet
and making about 40 knots.

Suddenly he must have seen the wake of our periscope, for he turned
towards us. Simultaneously Alten, from the conning tower (I was using
the other periscope in the control room), ordered the boat to sixty
feet, and put the helm hard over.

We had turned sixteen points, [1] and in about two minutes heard a
series of reports right astern of us. It was evident that our ruse had
succeeded and that he had overshot the mark.

[Footnote 1: 180º]

Inside the boat one felt a slight jar as each bomb went off.

We gradually came round to our proper course, and cruised all day
submerged at dead slow speed. Every time we lifted our periscope he was
still hanging about sufficiently close to make it foolish for us to
come to the surface.

Towards noon a group of trawlers, doubtless summoned by wireless,
appeared, and proceeded to wander about. These seemed to concern Alten
far more than the airship, and he informed me that from their, to me,
aimless movements he deduced they were hunting for us by hydroplanes.
Occasionally we lay on the bottom in nineteen fathoms.

By 4 p.m. the atmosphere was becoming rather unpleasant and hot, and
gradually we took off more clothes. Curiously enough, I longed for a
smoke, but wild horses would not have made me ask Alten for permission.

At 8 p.m. it was sufficiently dark to enable us to rise, which gave me
great pleasure, though the first rush of fresh air down the hatch made
me vomit after hours of breathing the vitiated muck. On coming to the
surface we saw nothing in sight, but a breeze had sprung up which
caused spray to break over the bridge as we chugged along at 9 knots.

Everyone was in high spirits, as always on the return journey, when the
mind turns to the Fatherland and all it holds.

My mind turns to Zoe. I confess it to myself frankly. I hardly realized
to what extent this woman had begun to influence me until we received
the wireless signal ordering us to delay entering for twelve hours. The
receipt of this news, trivial though the delay has been, threw a mantle
of gloom over the crew. I participated in the depression and, upon
thought, rather wondered that this should be so. Self-analysis on the
lines laid down by Schessmanweil [1] revealed to me that the basis of
my annoyance is the fact that my next meeting with Zoe is deferred! I
feel instinctively that I shall have trouble here, and that I had
better haul off a lee shore whilst there is manoeuvring room, and
yet--and yet I secretly rejoice that every revolution of the propeller,
every clank and rattle of the Diesels brings us closer together.

[Footnote 1: Apparently some German author, of obscure origin, as I
cannot find him in any book of reference.--ETIENNE.]

Alten has just come down from the bridge, and we chatted for some
moments; it is evident that he wishes to apologize for his rudeness
over the smoking incident.

I was in error, I admit it frankly; at the same time I did not know
that the battery was on charge, and to dash a match from my hand! I
could have shot him where he stood. However, I am not vindictive, and
as far as I am concerned the incident is ended.

One thing I find trying in this small boat, and that is that I can
find no space in which to do half my Müller exercises, the leg-
and-arm-swinging ones. I must see whether I can't invent a set of
U-boat exercises!

Good! in two hours we reach the Mole-end light buoy.

* * * * *

_Submarine Mess, Bruges._

It is midnight, and as I write in my room at the top of the house the
low rumble of the guns from the south-west vibrates faintly through the
open window, for it is extraordinarily warm for the time of year, and I
have flung back the curtains and risked the light shining.

We spent the night at Zeebrugge and came up to the docks here next day.
We shall probably be in for a week, and I am on four days' "extended
absence from the boat," which practically means that I can go where I
like in the neighbourhood provided I am handy to a telephone.

After a short inward struggle I rang Zoe up on the telephone;
fortunately I did not call first.

A man's voice answered, and for a moment I was dumbfounded. I guessed
at once it was the Colonel, and I had counted so confidently on his
being still away at the front.

For an instant I felt speechless, an impulse came to me to ring off
without further ado, but I restrained myself, and then a fine idea came
into my head.

"Who is that?" I said.

"Colonel Stein!" replied the voice, and my fears were confirmed, but my
plan of campaign held good.

"I am speaking," I continued, "on behalf of Lieutenant Von
Schenk----"

"Ah, yes!" growled the voice, and for an instant a panic seized me, but
I resumed:

"He met Madame Stein at dinner some days ago, and she kindly asked him
to call; he has asked me to ring up and inquire when it would be
convenient, as he would like to meet you, sir, as well. He has been
unable to ring up himself, as he was sent away from Bruges on duty
early this morning."

I smiled to myself at this little lie and listened.

"Your friend had better call to-morrow then, for I leave to-morrow
evening for the Somme front; will you tell him?"

I replied that I would, and left the telephone well satisfied, but
cursing the fates that made it advisable to keep clear of No. 10,
Kafelle Strasse for thirty-six hours. Needless to say next day I rang
up again in order to tell the Colonel that Lieutenant Schenk had
apparently been detained, as he was not yet back in Bruges, and how I
felt sure that he would be sorry at missing the Colonel, etc., etc.,
but all this camouflage was unnecessary, as she herself came to the
'phone. I could have kissed the instrument when I told her of my
stratagem and heard her silvery laughter in my ear.

"It is arranged that to-morrow, starting at 10.30, we motor for the day
to the Forest of Meten, taking our lunch and tea with us--pray Heaven
the weather holds."

To-night in the Mess it is generally considered that U.B.40 has been
lost; she is ten days overdue and was operating off Havre, she has made
no signal for a fortnight. Such is the price of victory and the cost of
war--death, perhaps, in some terrible form, but bah! away with such
thoughts, to-morrow there is love and life and Zoe!

* * * * *

Once more it is night, still the guns rumble on the same old dismal
tones, and as it is raining now it must be getting bad up at the front.
Except for the rain it might have been last night, but much has
happened to me in the meanwhile.

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