The Diary of a U boat Commander by Anon

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The second letter gave me a great surprise. It was from Rosa. She has
passed some examination, and is coming _here_ of all places as a Red
Cross nurse. She says she is looking forward to going round a U-boat!
She assumes a good deal, I must say, still, I suppose I must be polite
to her; but why the deuce does she sign herself "Yours, Rosa?" She's
not mine, and I don't want her; it seems funny to me that I once
thought of her vaguely in that sort of way. Now, I feel rather
disturbed that she is coming here, though I don't quite see why I
should worry, and yet I wonder if it is a coincidence her coming to
Bruges?

I'm almost inclined to think it isn't. After all, every girl wants to
get married, and without conceit my family, circumstances and, in the
privacy of the pages of this journal I may add, my personal
appearances, are such as would appeal to most girls--except Zoe,
apparently!

I'll have to be on my guard against Miss Rosa.

I heard to-day that I am likely to be appointed to the periscope school
in a few weeks' time, and meanwhile I am to be attached as
supernumerary to the operations division on old Max's staff.

* * * * *

The work here is most interesting. I feel glad that I am one of the
spiders weaving the web for Britain's destruction.

The impasse with Zoe still continues, and my peace of mind has been
still further disturbed by the actual arrival of Rosa. She rang me up
within twelve hours of her arrival, and, of course, I was obliged to
call. That was the day before yesterday. Rosa is at the No. 3 Hospital
here, and was horribly effusive. Some people would, I suppose, call her
good-looking, but to me, with my mind's-eye in perpetual contemplation
of my darling Zoe, Rosa looked like a turnip. Her first movement after
the preliminary greetings was to offer me a cigarette! I then noticed
that her fingers were stained with nicotine, unpleasant in a man,
disgusting in a woman.

Her nose was shiny and greasy--horrible. After a little talk she
volunteered the statement that yesterday was her afternoon off, and she
was simply longing to have tea in the gardens.

I endeavoured to make some feeble excuse on the grounds of the weather
being unsuitable, but I am no good at these social lies, and I was
eventually obliged to promise to take her there. I was the more annoyed
in that her main object was obviously to be seen walking with a U-boat
officer.

Accordingly, yesterday, I found myself walking about with her at my
side. My feelings can better be imagined than described when I suddenly
saw Zoe, accompanied by Babette, in the distance. I hastily altered
course, and pray she didn't see me.

In the course of the afternoon Rosa had the impertinence to say that at
Frankfurt they were saying that I was interested in a beautiful widow
at Bruges, and could she (Rosa) write and say I was heart-whole, or
else what the girl was like. I'm afraid that I lost my temper a little,
and I told Rosa she could write to all the busybodies at home and tell
them from me to go to the devil.

These women in the home circle, and especially aunts, are always the
same; firstly, they badger one to get married, and then if they think
one is contemplating such a step they are all agog to find out whether
she is suitable!

* * * * *

Three more boats, two of which are U.C.'s, are overdue. It is
distinctly unpleasant not knowing how or where they go, though the U.B.
boat (Friederich Althofen) made her incoming position the day before
yesterday as off Dungeness, so it looks as if the barrage at Dover
which got Weissman has got Althofen as well. I wonder what new devilry
they have put down there.

How one wishes that in 1914, instead of seeking the capture of Paris,
we had realized the importance of the Channel Ports to England, and
struck for them!

It would not have been necessary to strike even in September, 1914. We
could have walked into them. Dunkirk, at all events, should have been
ours; however, we must do the best with things as they are, not that I
would consider it too late even now to make a big push for the French
coast.

It would seem, as a matter of fact, that all the pushing is to be at
the other end of the line, in the Verdun sector, from the rumours I
hear, though I should have thought once bitten twice shy in that
quarter.

* * * * *

Saw Zoe again in the distance, and I think she saw me; at all events
she turned round and walked away.

This girl whom I cannot, and would not if I could, obliterate from my
thoughts, is causing me much worry.

She shows no sign of giving in, and I for one intend to be adamant. I
shall defeat her in time. The male intellect is always ultimately
victorious, other things being equal. I was reading Schopenhauer on the
subject last night. What a brain that man had, though I confess his
analysis of the female mentality is so terribly and truthfully cruel
that it jars on certain of my feelings.

Zoe's resolution in this conflict, this sex war one might call it, only
adds to her charm in my eyes; she is, I feel, a worthy mate for me,
both intellectually and physically, and she shall be mine--I have
decided it.

Met Rosa to-day at old Max's house, where I went to pay a duty call.

Her Excellency is as forbidding a specimen of her sex as any I have
ever met. She quite frightened me, and in the home circle the old man
seemed quite subdued.

I escorted Rosa home, and on the way to her hospital she gave me a
great surprise, as after much evasive talk she suddenly came out with
the news that she was engaged to Heinrich Baumer, of U.C.23. I was
quite taken aback, and will frankly confess that not so very long ago I
imagined, evidently erroneously, that she was disposed to let her
affections become engaged in another quarter. However, I was really
very glad to hear this news, and congratulated her with genuine
feeling.

The knowledge that she was a promised woman quite altered my feelings
towards her, and before I quite meant to, I had told her a considerable
amount about Zoe. It gave me much relief to be able to unburden myself,
and confide my difficulties elsewhere than in the pages of this
journal.

I have asked the girl to tea to-morrow.

* * * * *

A vile air raid last night. British machines, of course. They seemed
determined to get over the town, and from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m. relays of
machines (of which not _one_ was shot down) attacked us. The din was
tremendous, and all sleep was out of the question.

Morning revealed surprisingly little damage, as is often the case in
these big raids, whereas a few bombs from a chance machine often work
havoc. I was down at 50 B.C. aerodrome this morning, and heard that as
soon as the moon suits we are going to make Dunkirk sit up as
retaliation for last night's efforts. There were also rumours of big
attacks impending on London as soon as the new type of Gothas are
delivered. That will shake the smug security of those cursed islanders.

Rosa came to tea, and afterwards I told her more about Zoe, and as I
expect any day to be appointed to the periscope school at Kiel, I asked
Rosa to try and effect an introduction to Zoe, and do what she could
for me. Rosa gave me the impression that she was somewhat surprised
that I should have had any difficulty with Zoe (of course I had not
told her of the shooting-box scene). Rosa evidently thinks any woman
ought to be honoured....

Perhaps I was not so far wrong in my surmises as to Rosa's previous
inclinations--I wonder; at any rate she will undoubtedly make Baumer a
good wife, and she will probably be very fruitful and grow still fatter
and housewifely. She is of a type of woman appointed by God in his
foresight as breeders. Zoe, my adorable one, will probably not take
kindly to babies.

* * * * *

I am ordered to report myself at Kiel by next Monday.

I am terribly tempted to ring up Zoe on the telephone before I leave:
it seems dreadful to leave her without a word; but at the same time I
feel that she would interpret this as a sign of weakness on my part--as
indeed it would be. I must be firm, for strength of mind pays with
women, even more than with men.

_At Kiel_.

I left Bruges without a word either to or from my obstinate darling.

It is torture being away from her. I had thought that when I was here
and not exposed to the temptation of going round and seeing her, that
it would be easier; it is not. I long to write, and how I wonder
whether she is feeling it as I do.

I have read somewhere that a woman's passion once aroused is more
ungovernable than a man's. That her whole being cries aloud for me
cannot be doubted, and if the above statement is true what
inflexibility of will she must be showing--it almost makes me fear--but
no, I will defeat her in this strange contest, and she shall be my
wife.

The work here is strenuous, and the grass does not grow under one's
feet. The course for commanding officers lasts four weeks, and
terminates in an exceedingly practical but rather fearsome test--i.e.,
they have six steamers here camouflaged after the English fashion with
dazzle painting, and these six steamers, protected by launches and
harbour defence craft, steam across Kiel Bay in the manner of a convoy.
The officer being examined has to attack this group of ships in one of
the instructional submarines, and in three attacks he must score at
least two hits, or else, in theory, he is returned to general service
in the Fleet.

Fortunately at the moment I hear that owing to recent losses they are
distinctly on the short side where submarine officers are concerned, so
they'll probably make it easy when I do my test.

* * * * *

I see I have written nothing here for a fortnight; this is due to two
causes: Firstly, I have been so extraordinarily busy, and, secondly, I
have been most depressed through a letter I received from Fritz. It
contained two items of bad news.

In the first place, I heard for the first time of the tragedy of
Heinrich Baumer's boat, and to my astonishment Fritz tells me that Rosa
and another girl were in her when she was lost!

It appears that she was to go out for a couple of hours' diving off the
port as a matter of routine after her two months' overhaul. She went
out at 10 a.m., and was sighted from the signal station at the end of
the mole at 11.30, when almost immediately afterwards there was an
explosion and she disappeared. Motor-boats were quickly on the scene,
but only debris came to the surface. Divers were sent down, and
reported that she was in ten metres of water completely shattered. It
is assumed, for lack of other explanation, that she struck a chance
drifting mine which was moving down the coast on the tide.

Meanwhile Rosa and another sister were missing from the hospital, and
after forty-eight hours someone put two and two together and started
investigations. It has been ascertained that Baumer motored down from
Bruges after breakfast, and that in the car were two figures taken to
be sailors, as they were muffled up in oilskins. This fact was noted by
the control sentries, as, though the day was showery, it was not
raining hard. Other scraps of evidence unite in showing that these were
the two girls who had apparently induced Baumer to take them out for a
dive as a treat.

What a tragedy! However, it must have been quite instantaneous. Poor
Rosa, with all her vanities about war work, to think that the war would
claim her like that! [1]

[Footnote 1: It is known that a boat with women on board was lost
whilst exercising off Zeebrugge in the Spring of 1917. This would
appear to be the boat in question.--ETIENNE.]

Fritz added that old Max is almost off his head with rage over the
whole business, and it is difficult to say whether he is more angry
over Baumer and the boat being lost, or over the fact that Baumer being
dead he is unable to administer those "disciplinary actions" in which
he delights.

* * * * *

Great excitement here, as the day after to-morrow His Imperial Majesty
the Kaiser and Hindenburg are due to pay Kiel a surprise visit. We are
to be inspected and addressed. Tremendous preparations are going on.

* * * * *

His Majesty, accompanied by the great Field-Marshal, inspected us this
morning, and made a fine speech, of which we have been given printed
copies. I shall frame mine and hang it in my boat, if I get a command.

I transcribe it:

"Officers and men of the U-boat service:

"In the midst of the anxious moments in which we live I have determined
to make time to come and witness in my own person the labours of those
on whom I and the Fatherland rely. Fresh from the great battles on the
West which are gnawing at the vitals of our hereditary enemies, I come
to those whose glorious mission it will be to strike relentlessly at
our most deadly and cunning enemy--cursed Britain. God is on our side
and will protect you at sea for, in the striking at the nation which
openly boasts that it aims at starving our women and children, you are
engaged on a mission of undoubted holiness.

"You must sink and destroy even as of old the Israelites smote and
destroyed the alien races.

"To the officers I would particularly say, my person is your honour,
and I am your supreme chief. From my hands you will receive honour, and
from my hands will proceed just punishment for the unhappy ones who
fail in their duty.

"To the men I would say, trust and obey your officers as you would your
God. Officers and men! In you, your Kaiser and Fatherland place their
trust--let neither be disappointed!"

After his address, His Majesty graciously spoke a few words to
individuals, of whom I had the signal honour of being one. I felt that
I was in the presence of an Emperor. His gestures, his eyes, his voice,
impressed me as belonging to a man born to command and to fill high
places. The Field-Marshal never opened his mouth. I understand from his
A.D.C. that he rarely speaks in public.

* * * * *

The Colonel is KILLED! When I think about it, I am so excited I can
hardly write!

I heard the great news last night, quite by accident. I was sitting in
the Mess after dinner, and picked up _Die Woche_, and glancing at the
pictures, I suddenly saw the portrait of Colonel Stein, of the
Brandenburgers, killed on the 7th instant near Ypres. I recognized the
ugly and bloated face immediately from the photograph of him which she
had once shown me.

My first impulse was to send her a wire, but, on thinking matters over,
I decided that it would be difficult to put all my thoughts into the
curt sentences of a telegram, and, further, that as all wires are
doubtless examined at the Main Post Office at Bruges, it might lead to
trouble, so I wrote her a letter.

This, in a way, has been an exhibition of weakness on my part, as I had
promised myself that I would not take the first step in reopening
communication; but I feel that the fortunate death of Stein has
completely altered the case. I told her in the letter that I realized
that I had made mistakes, but that if she still loved me with half the
strength that I loved her, then a telegram to me would make me the
happiest of men.

I wrote that yesterday, but have had no wire. Perhaps, like me, she
distrusts telegrams and prefers letters.

* * * * *

A long letter from Zoe: an accursed fetter--an abominable letter--a
damnable letter; she still refuses to marry me. I leave for Bruges
to-night on forty-eight hours' special leave.

_Kiel, 17th._

I hate Zoe, she has broken my heart.

After her preposterous letter of the 14th, I decided that in a matter
which so closely affected my happiness no stone ought to remain
unturned to ensure a satisfactory solution of the problem, so I
determined to have a personal interview. I arrived at Bruges after tea
and went at once to the flat.

I tackled her immediately on the subject of her letter, and told her
that naturally I understood that a decent interval must elapse before
we married; but, granted this fact, I told her that I failed to see
what prevented our marriage.

A most unpleasant and harrowing scene ensued, the details of which form
such painful recollections that I really cannot write them down here,
though in the passage of months I have acquired the habit of writing in
the pages of this journal with the same freedom as I would talk to that
wife whom I had hoped to possess. She maintained an obstinate silence
when I urged her to give me at least some tangible reason as to why she
would not marry me. She contented herself and maddened me by reflecting
in a kind of monotone: "I love you, Karl! and am yours, but I cannot
marry you."

I could have beaten her till she was senseless, but I had enough sense
to realize that with Zoe, whose resolution, considering she is a woman,
amazes me, force is not the best method. As I continued to press her
(time was important: had I not journeyed far to see her?), those
glorious eyes of hers, which I love and whose power I dread, filled
with tears. I was a brute! I was heartless! I was inconsiderate! I
could not love her! I was cruel! And I know not what other accusation
crushed me down.

Broken-hearted and dispirited, I told her to choose there and then.

She collapsed on to a sofa in a storm of tears, and after a severe
mental struggle I took the only possible course, and leaving the
room--left her for ever. I have resumed my service life determined to
cast her out from my mind.

I will not deceive myself: it will be hard. Love and Logic are deadly
enemies, but Logic must and shall prevail. Though I have seen her for
the last time, I cannot escape the net of fascination which the girl
has thrown over me. Perhaps in the course of time I shall slowly emerge
and free myself from its entanglements. At present I hate her for this
blow she has dealt me, and yet, O Zoe! my darling, how I long to be
with you!

* * * * *

To-day I went through my final test for qualification as U-boat
commander.

At 9 a.m. I proceeded to sea in command of the U.11, one of the
instructional boats here. We proceeded out into Kiel Bay. On board and
watching my every movement was a committee consisting of a commander
and two lieutenant-commanders.

On arrival at the entrance lightship, I was ordered to attack a convoy
of camouflaged ships which were just visible about fifteen kilometres
away off the Spit Bank. I had a very shrewd idea as to the course they
would steer, and on coming up for my final observation I found myself
in an excellent position, 1,000 metres on the bow of the leading ship.
The rest was easy. I gave the leader the two bow torpedoes, and,
turning sixteen points, fired my stern tube at the third ship of the
line. Two hits were obtained, and I returned to harbour well pleased
with myself. There is not the slightest chance of having failed to
qualify.

* * * * *

My confidence in myself was not misplaced; I heard to-day that I am on
the command list, and anticipate in a few days being appointed to a
boat. I wonder which craft I shall get?

* * * * *

I met the A.D.C. to the Chief of the Staff at the school, at the
gardens, and in conversation with him discovered that he had heard that
three boats were being detached from the Flanders flotilla for an
unknown destination. This has given me an idea, for I feel that I can
never return to Bruges, and I was rather dreading being appointed to
one of the boats there. I have dropped a line to Fritz Regels, who is
on old Max's staff, and told him that I do not wish to return to
Bruges, and I further hinted that I understood a detached squadron was
proceeding somewhere, and, as far as I was concerned, the further the
better, if I could get into it.

I have tried the night life at this place at the Mascotte and
Trocadero, [1] in order to forget, but it is a poor consolation.

[Footnote 1: Two well-known cabarets at Kiel.--ETIENNE.]

* * * * *

A letter from Fritz, saying that he has an idea that Korting's boat
would suit me, though he could not of course give me further details in
a letter; however, he informs me positively that I shall not be at
Bruges.

On the strength of this I have wired to Fritz, and asked him to try and
fix up an exchange between me and Korting, provided the latter is
agreeable and the people in Max's office have no objection. I have a
recollection that Korting's boat is one of the U.40--U.60 class, which
would suit me admirably, and, as for destination, I care not where it
is, provided only that it be far from Bruges.

_At sea_.

I have quite neglected my poor old journal for several weeks. But I
have passed through an extraordinarily busy period.

It was approved that I should relieve Korting, whose boat, the U.59, I
discovered to be refitting at Wilhelmshaven. I was very pleased not to
go back to Bruges, though as we steam steadily north at this moment I
cannot escape a sense of deep disappointment that upon my return from
this trip I shall not enjoy as of old the fascination of Zoe. But I
shall have plenty of time to get accustomed to this idea, for this is
no ordinary trip.

We are bound for the North Cape and Murman Coast, where we remain until
well into the cold weather--at any rate, for three months.

Our mission is to work off that fogbound and desolate coast, and attack
the constant stream of traffic between England and Archangel. There are
two other boats besides ourselves on the job, but we shall all be
working far apart.

Our first billet is off the North Cape. In order to save time, we are
to be provisioned once a month in one of the fjords. I don't imagine
the Admiralty will have any difficulty in getting supplies up to us, as
at the moment we are off the Lofotens, and we actually have not had to
dive since we left the Bight!

There seems to be nothing on the sea except ourselves. Where is the
much vaunted and impenetrable web of blockade which the English are
supposed to have spread around us? And yet many raw materials are
getting very short with us. I see that in this boat they have replaced
several copper pipes with steel ones during her refit, and this will
lead to trouble unless we are careful--steel pipes corrode so badly
that I never feel ready to trust them for pressure work.

The truth about the blockade is that it is largely a paper blockade,
yet not ineffective for all that. Unfortunately for us, the damned
English and their hangers-on control the cables of the world, and hence
all the markets, and I don't suppose, to take the case of copper, that
a single pound of it is mined from the Rio Tinto without the British
Board of Trade knowing all about it. The neutral firms simply dare not
risk getting put on to the British Black List; it means ruination for
them. And then all these dollar-grabbing Yankees, enjoying all the
advantages of war without any of its dangers--they make me sick.

This seems a most profitable job. I have only been up seven days, but
I've bagged four steamers, all by gun-fire, and all fat ships, brimful
of stuff for the Russians. My practice has been to make the North Cape
every day or two to fix position, as the currents are the most abnormal
in these parts, and I should say that the "Sailing Directions Pilotage
Handbook" and "Tidal Charts" were compiled by a gentleman at a desk who
had never visited these latitudes.

At the moment I am standing well out to sea, as the immediate vicinity
of the North Cape has become rather unhealthy.

Yesterday afternoon (I had sunk number four in the morning, and the
crew were still pulling for the coast) four British trawlers turned up.
These damned little craft seem to turn up wherever one goes. I longed
to have a bang at them with my gun, but, apart from the uncertainty as
to what they carried in the way of armament, I have strict orders to
avoid all that sort of thing, so I dived and steamed slowly west, came
up at dusk and proceeded to charge up my batteries.

These U.6O's are excellent boats, and I am very lucky to get one so
soon. I suppose Korting, being a married man, wants to stay near his
wife. I cannot write that word without painful memories of Zoe and idle
thoughts of what might have been. Well, perhaps it is for the best. I
am not sure that a member of the U-boat service has the right to get
married in war-time, for unless he is of exceptional mentality it must
affect his outlook under certain circumstances, though I think I should
have been an exception here. Then the anxiety to the woman must be
enormous; as every trip comes round a voice must cry within her, this
may be the last. The contrast between the times in harbour and the
trips is so violent, so shattering and clear cut.

With a soldier's wife, she merely knows that he is at the front; with
us, at 8 p.m. one may be kissing one's wife in Bruges, and at 6 a.m.
creeping with nerves on edge through the unknown dangers of the Dover
Barrage--but I have strayed from what I meant to write about--my first
command and her crew.

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