The adventures of Heine
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.”