The adventures of Heine 13 – Wallace · Verses Across
Literature · Short Stories
The adventures of Heine 13The U-Boat Adventure
18
Literature · Short Stories
The adventures of Heine 13
The U-Boat Adventure
WallaceEnglish
I have often remarked to good friends of mine that there is evidence of the fact that Providence has a special interest in my welfare. We Germans are naturally a devout and religious people, and I need only remind you that Luther, the Father of the Reformation, was a German, to bring home to you the fact that in the ground of the Fatherland, piety and solemn-view-taking flourish like the green bay tree. Charity, forbearance, lawfulness and lovingkindness are as the breath of good German nostrils, and he who disputes this statement is a liar and a rascal.
As for the editors of the English and Scottish press, by heavens! I would that I had my way on them. I would flog them till they all but died and brand them with hot irons “liar,” turning them loose to beg their way from door to door. Woe to ye, Scribes and Pharisees, if Heine ever sits in London as Administrator of the Hostile Press!
Such a thing is not unlikely.
When you received my last, did you not hourly expect to find me knocking at your door? I told you of Major Haynes, the so-called Intelligence Officer, and of how he put me on a ship sailing for America. But he little knew his Heine! He little realized that the modest and unassuming man who bade him a courteous farewell and walked with careless dignity to the waiting boat was turning over certain schemes in his head.
As I stood on the broad deck of the English steamer and shook my fist at Perfidious Ireland, I realized in a flash what my beloved Fatherland was losing by my departure from a land in which I had rendered Germany so many signal services. Oh, thou Bride of the Rhine! Thou Iron Child of Valour, I, Heine, the least of Thy Servants shed a tear of sorrow that thou hast endured the loss of one loyal heart, faithful and restless in his efforts against a World of Enemies! Prosper, beloved of the Gods! Let Victory be added unto Victory!
“Keep your eye skinned for submarines,” said a kindly meaning mariner, and these words brought me to the alert. My situation was serious. It could not be known in Berlin that I had sailed, and the stupid fools of U-boat commanders would be ignorant of my presence on the British ship.
At the thought a cold shiver of horror percolated through my spinal column.
What tragedy if such be the end of a splendid career. I skinned my eyes throughout the day and twice by my loud cries saved disaster, once from a floating mine shaped like a wooden barrel (such is the supreme cunning of our race) and once from a U-boat which constantly came up and dived.
The stupid English said that the first was only a barrel and that the up-and-down-diving U-boat was a porpoise, but Heine’s eyes are sharp.
I did not attempt to make friends for the voyage, and rejected with scorn the suggestion of a frivolous American that I should play poker. Imagine playing poker in the midst of a great war! I asked him if he could play skat, but he knew nothing of that splendid and truly German game.
I can give a great deal of information about the methods that are employed to convoy ships through what is called the Danger Zone, and in due course I may write a report on the subject, or rather I should have written a report but for circumstances which I will reveal at a much later stage. Of how we zig-zagged about, first east and then west, then north and then south, of the balloons and aeroplanes and torpedo boats that watched us there seemed no end.
My German heart swelled with pride as I thought that all these precautions were forced by our incomparable U-boats.
I was sitting on the deck waiting for the sound of the dinner-bell, thinking out how superior the German race is to all its kind and how it must inevitably, sooner or later, conquer the world, when one of the ship’s officers passed by. I took off my hat to him and bowed and he gave me a little jerk of his head and passed on. Suddenly, however, he stopped.
“You want to keep your eyes skinned,” he said with that brutal gruffness which is so characteristic of the English.
“Sir,” I said with a little smile, “my eyes are so thoroughly skinned that I can hardly shut them at night.”
Instead of laughing at this little jest, he made a grunting, pig-like noise.
“There’s a U-boat somewhere about here,” he said, “the patrols have lost sight of it. I see you are prepared.”
I was wearing an unsinkable waistcoat, which I had purchased from the steward, the life-belt, which we are compelled to wear, but which I should have worn under any circumstances, a pair of thick waterproof boots, and my pockets were filled with brandy flask and sandwiches, in case of accident. We Germans are prepared for anything, as I have remarked before.
“Do you mean to say,” I said in alarm, “that there is a chance of--of unpleasant happenings?”
“A big chance,” he said, “fortunately we have got very few passengers, so I am not disguising the fact to many of them that we are in some danger.”
“But,” I protested indignantly, “what about the boasted patrol boats? Where are your many vaunted aeroplanes? Why are we not preceded by warships to take the shock, which, according to the lying statements in the daily papers, is the custom?”
“Probably they didn’t know you were coming on board,” he said with true British insolence, and passed on.
The dinner-bell rang, but I remained on deck. I would take no risks. Here I was, and here I would remain until the Danger Zone was passed, even if I had to sit up night after night. All the lights on the deck were extinguished. There was no sound but the steady thud of the screw and the roar of the water running past the hull of the steamer. The night was pitch black, such a night as filled my soul with strangely religious thoughts, and whilst my mind was thus occupied, I heard a shout from the bridge, an excited voice cried something, and I rushed to the side of the vessel and looked left and right, my skinned eyes searching the darkness.
Then something happened! I have never understood what it was. I was conscious of a brilliant flash of light, and a roar in my ear, such as a man feels who may occasionally take a bath and inadvertently put his head under the water. I felt myself leaping through space. I had only time to remember that I had all my money in my pockets, but that I had left several important documents in my cabin, before I received another shock. I was in the water. The life-belt supported me. There was no sign of the ship. I screamed for help with true German thoroughness. I was bobbing up and down like a cork, and I felt dazed and ill.
What had happened? Had the ship sunk? Was I alone on the ocean? I thought of my life. I thought of the Fatherland. I hoped the cursed submarine would sink and all its crew be drowned.
I do not know how long I was in the water. They told me it was not more than twenty minutes, but that twenty minutes was an eternity to me. The water was bitterly cold, my hands were numb, but I found my brandy flask and emptied its contents down my throat. I felt a little better after that, but, oh, joy, when suddenly I heard a voice in the darkness shout, almost in my ear it seemed:
“There’s somebody,” and the words were spoken in German.
Almost immediately something big and hard rubbed against me. I can describe it in no other way. A hand gripped my collar and dragged me on to what felt like the top of an egg, if you can imagine the egg laid over on its side.
“Help,” I said faintly. “I am a true German.”
“A German?” said a surprised voice, “Gott in Himmel! What are you doing here?”
I staggered to my feet, assisted by a strong German arm and addressed the presence which was dimly outlined against the starry skies. How godlike is a German officer! How loud and commanding is his voice! What splendid domination there is in his whole bearing.
“Get him below,” he said, “there go the searchlights. Is that you, Fritz?”
“Yes, Herr Lieutenant.”
“Well, what is she doing?”
“She has just sent an S.O.S. and wirelessed her position,” said the other, whom I could not see.
“Be ready to submerge. Come on, my friend.”
He gripped me by the arm. I was pushed down a steel ladder and found myself in the confined space of a German submarine. Instantly there was a loud clang as though the lid had closed on a box, a rush of warm air and----
“Hold tight!” said the voice of the commander.
His back was to me, but I could tell by his voice that he was a man of noble birth. The deck tilted under me and I had a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, and then the horror of the situation dawned upon me. We were going down to the depths of the sea. We would probably be chased by those infernal destroyers and trawlers, and aeroplanes.
It never struck me before what a brutal race the British were. Here were we, boxed up in a frail little vessel, the prey of a hundred bloodthirsty hawks. I felt faint at the thought, and casting aside all restraint, I walked up to the commander still standing by his directing instruments.
“Pardon, Excellency,” I said, and would have taken off my hat, only I remembered I had left the ship without one.
“Well?” he said, without moving round.
“Would it not be wise,” I suggested, “if you made for the nearest port and let me land? I feel I am only an encumbrance on your Excellency, and will be eating the food which I feel sure you need.”
“Go to the devil,” said this arrogant young man, whose name I learnt was von Gwinner.
Presently he had finished his work and walked back to me.
“Do you imagine that I would walk into the nets and risk certain destruction in order to save you a little discomfort? What is your name, swine?”
“Excellency,” I said, “I am known as Heine.”
I spoke, I think, with dignity, and I hope that the man was impressed.
“I am an officer of the Imperial Intelligence Staff.”
“How did you come to be on this ship?” he asked.
I explained to him that I was making my escape from England, carrying valuable documents, which were of the highest importance to the German Government. I felt if I said this he would regret his precipitate action in sinking the ship, and it flashed upon me as I was speaking that possibly I could find a way out of my exceedingly uncomfortable position.
“Did the ship sink?” I asked.
“No,” he said with a curse, “we probably damaged her bow, but she’s still afloat.”
“Then,” said I eagerly, “why not run me up quite close to her. There are a number of ladders with which I have familiarized myself and I can very easily step from your deck to----”
“Don’t talk like a fool,” he said, “she is probably surrounded by destroyers and trawlers now. If I got near her I should probably have a depth charge on me and never know what struck me.” He looked at me thoughtfully. “A spy, eh?” he said. “Do you speak English?”
“Perfectly, sir,” I said.
“Thunder and lightning,” he said, “you are the very man I want.”
I cannot say that I was very pleased.
“You want me?” I faltered.
“You are the man I want. By heavens! It’s providential. Sit down on that locker.”
“May I smoke?” I asked.
“If you want me to kick you in the stomach,” he replied viciously; “smoking on a submarine, are you mad? Do you imagine you are on the Kiel Ferry?”
He was so angry that I changed the conversation. He then told me that this was one of the super-submarines which had been sent out from Kiel soon after the U-boat warfare had started, and that he had hitherto carried an intelligence officer whose task was to go ashore at unfrequented places, make his way to the nearest seaport and learn something about sailings.
“I have felt the loss of him,” he said.
“Have you lost him?” I asked with a quaking heart.
“Yes,” he said carelessly, “he was shot dead by a coastguard near Portland. He was an amiable man, and I quite missed him.”
“Indeed,” I said faintly, “is there any danger of that?”
“Oh, yes, you would have to take that risk! You tell me you haven’t incurred the suspicion of the authorities.”
Like a fool I had told him that in describing my departure from England.
“Very well. You couldn’t be better. I remember your name now.”
He unlocked a little steel box attached to the wall of the small cabin in which we were speaking, and took out a book which is familiar to me--a list of agents. He looked them down carefully. Presently he stopped.
“What is your code name?” he asked.
I told him, and he nodded.
“That’s right. If you had deceived me, I should have gone up to the surface, put you on deck and submerged again--leaving you without your lifebelt. As it is, I appoint you Intelligence Officer with pay at the rate of six marks a day.”
“Thank you,” I said, not without sarcasm, though this I did not make evident.
How can I describe my thoughts and feelings during that terrible night? Wild with anxiety as to my fate, the maddening knowledge that I was perhaps thousands of feet under the surface of the sea, and liable at any minute to strike a submerged rock or a sea-mine, facing the prospect of stealing ashore and perhaps being shot by coastguards either coming or going! All these things crowded one upon the other, and robbed me of sleep.
The interior of the submarine was thick and close. The sailors glanced at me disdainfully, and answered any questions which I put to them with bluff rudeness.
You cannot conceive, my dear friend, how restricted life is on board a German submarine. It is all whirling engines and projecting brackets that bump your head. These are noises most terrible to hear. The only man who talked to me was a good fellow, whose name I forget, who told me that only one German submarine in three ever gets back to port, and the stories he told me about nets and submarine mines, and how you can be seen from the surface by aeroplanes, and how sometimes the engines go wrong and it is impossible to rise, turned me almost grey.
It is very likely that I slept. My own impression is that I did not, but I am told that it was necessary to kick me because I was snoring. As I never snore this is palpably absurd. But apparently we did come to the surface in the night, but nobody told me this, or I would have gone on to the deck to get some fresh air. The sailor with whom I spoke informed me that if I had, the commander would probably have kicked me into the sea, and that members of the crew were not allowed to come up without special permission.
The agony of the following day beggars description. We were coming up to the surface and our periscope was showing, when suddenly the U-boat gave a violent jerk and I was almost flung off my feet. I thought we had struck a mine, and fell into the arms of the commander, half-fainting. I fell out again with true German alacrity, when I realized that it was not agreeable to him. He afterwards explained to me with a great deal of unnecessary insolence that he had come up close to a destroyer and had had to submerge in a hurry.
We were not fortunate that day, and the next time our periscope showed above water it was nearly carried away by shell-fire from a trawler less than a thousand yards away, and I sat and quaked as I heard the dull throb of the depth charges exploding in our vicinity.
That evening the commander beckoned me to the tiny box which he called a cabin.
“Do you know Devonshire?” he asked.
“Yes, Excellency,” I replied.
Of course, I did not know Devonshire, but it is very simple to buy a map and discover anything I want to know.
“Do you know Siddicombe Bay?”
“Not very well,” I replied.
“It is within easy walking distance of Torcombe Bay,” he said. “The coast is not well guarded there. I will land you under cover of the darkness and you will make your way to Quaytown. My information is that there is a convoy of ships there which are sailing either to-morrow or the next day. I want you to make inquiries. Here is the name of the public-house where sailors are to be found. As soon as you have secured information make your way back to the point where I shall land you, flash an electric torch once, and I will come and pick you up.”
He opened a case that he took from his desk and extracted two or three documents.
“Your name will be William Smith,” he said, “here is an English registration card. You live in Manchester, and you are looking for a ship. Here is your discharge book which you need not show unless you are questioned.”
He told me that these documents had been taken from a sailing ship which he had sunk, and that the owner of them had been killed by shell-fire.
At eight o’clock that night, we came slowly into the deep waters of Siddicombe Bay. It is, I believe, one of the beauty spots of Devonshire, a half-moon of green water surrounded by high red cliffs and sloping fields, chequered red and green. I did not see this by night, of course, and I am indebted to a local guide book for the description. A tiny collapsible boat was got out and opened, and into this I stepped.
“Remember,” said Commander von Gwinner, at parting, “you are to return at ten o’clock. If you are late you will be sorry, my friend.”
“Your Excellency,” I said quietly, “I am less influenced by your threats, though I recognize that being well-born you mean no harm, than by the knowledge that I am serving our beloved Fatherland, for whose success and victory I ever pray, and on whose behalf I am prepared to make the most monumental sacrifices.”
“You talk too much,” he said; “get into the boat.”
We landed at the beach without mishap. It was deserted, and I made my way along in the direction indicated by the local map, which I had studied with the commander, and presently found the zig-zag path that led to the top of the cliffs and to the little village of Siddicombe. Half an hour’s brisk walk brought me to Quaytown, a large, straggling town, which was in times of peace a pleasure resort, but which had been converted in war time to a port of call.
The main roads flank the little harbour which, as I could see, contained about six ships, and after inquiring from the policeman, I found my way to the public-house to which I had been directed.
It was nine o’clock when I arrived, so I had only half an hour to pursue my inquiries. The common bar was filled with a noisy crowd, mostly sailors and men of the R.N.V.R. I managed to get a drink, and cast my eyes round for a likely informant, and found one in a common sailor of the Naval Reserve, who gladly accepted my invitation to drink, but asked me to bring it to him, because the bar lady had refused to serve him with any more.
“It’s a hell of a life,” he said, “what with the law and the price of beer. It’s a dog’s life.”
It was providential that I found him. He was a man with a grievance, and a man with a grievance is very voluble.
“Come,” I said cheerily, “things are not so bad as you think. We shall soon have these damned Germans beaten.”
“Don’t you make any mistake about it, my boy,” said the common sailor, whose name was Jones, “if we are beating the Germans, why are we keeping our ships in harbour? Look here, mate,” he said, speaking with the stupidity of a drunken person, “we’ve got six ships in this harbour. They’ve been lying here for a week. Why? Because there are two German submarines outside--or rather one,” he corrected himself. “We’ve looked for them German submarines everywhere. The balloon’s been out, the aeroplane’s been out, the trawlers and destroyers have been out, but they haven’t got ’em--at least they haven’t found one,” he corrected himself again. “What’s going to happen? To-morrow afternoon at three o’clock when the convoy goes out----”
“To-morrow at three,” I said carelessly, “that’s a curious time to leave.”
“Never mind if it is curious, or if it isn’t,” said the man rudely quarrelsome, “they know their own business better than you do, my lad.”
“Naturally,” I said hastily.
“Well,” he went on, “to-morrow afternoon they go out at three o’clock. What happens? Them submarines will get ’em--at least one of ’em will,” he said.
So I had my information. Trust Heine to make a discovery of this kind.
At three o’clock on the following afternoon! The excellent von Gwinner would be delighted. He would understand perhaps that he had a different type of man to deal with than what he expected. Possibly he would send my name into Headquarters for an Iron Cross--that possibility awakened a thrill of pleasurable anticipation.
“But come, my friend,” I said, “you take too pessimistic a view. Now I don’t believe that these six ships will be sunk.”
“Not all of ’em,” said the inebriated sailor gloomily, “but one of ’em will. Them submarines are too artful, or rather,” he said, “one of ’em is.”
His insistence upon the differentiation piqued my curiosity.
“Tell me, my friend, if it is not betraying any military secret, and speaking as sailor to sailor----”
“You ain’t no sailor,” said the drunken man commonly.
“Speaking as man to man,” I said in haste to get him off the subject, “why do you say first that there are two submarines and then you only refer to one of them.”
He was pulling at a short clay pipe, very dark and very stomach-revolting, and he pulled for a long time before he spoke.
“Because,” he said at last, “one of ’em’s done hisself in.”
“Sunk?” I said with the same carelessness.
What information to carry to Commander von Gwinner! What a back-slap he would give me, at the same time saying, “Good old boy, you have done very well indeed.” I declare to you at that moment that the thought of serving the Fatherland brought tears of joy to my eyes. I would collect all the information I could, for already the hands of the clock were ominously near half-past.
“In what manner has he done himself in? Sunk?” I asked again.
“Well, he ain’t sunk,” admitted the man, “but he soon will be. He was spotted about an hour ago going into Siddicombe Bay, and all the bloomin’ fleet is on its way there with nets and trawlers, and depth charges, and Gawd knows what!”
I held on to the wall for support.
“They’ll have him netted in by half-past ten,” said my friend.
I looked at the clock again. There was time for me to get back to Siddicombe, but the next words of my acquaintance arrested my attention.
“He’s bound to spot ’em comin’ and make a run for it, and they’re bound to ketch ’im,” he said with cruel relish.
I could get back in half an hour. The boat would be there waiting at ten o’clock. I could warn von Gwinner, and he would “make a run for it.”
What stupidity! What recklessness! Who are these people, these air-giving aristocrats, who risk the lives of the true democracy! What right have they, I thought, to fling men of my intelligence and genius into terrible and spine-shaking danger and perhaps to death?
The clock pointed to 9.30.
“Well, so long,” said my acquaintance, “is there anything I can do for you, matey?”
I swallowed my drink and looked at the clock again.
“Yes,” I said firmly, for with my usual quickness of thought I had made my decision. “Can you recommend me an hotel where I can get a good bed?”
