The Adventures of the U-202: An Actual NarrativeSpiegel, E. (Edgar), Freiherr von
History
The Adventures of the U-202: An Actual Narrative
Spiegel, E. (Edgar), Freiherr von
World War, 1914-1918 -- Naval operations -- Submarine; World War, 1914-1918 -- Personal narratives, German
We could soon make out what it was. At a distance of about two hundred
meters in front of the sailer, there was a strong tug pulling the
full-rigged ship with a thick hawser, so that it could make better time.
There was nothing suspicious in this in these parts of the sea. It often
happened that sailing ships were towed in over the final fifty miles of
their voyage to reach port before evening, and thus gain an entire day.
The large tugboats went far out to sea and tendered their high-priced
services.
“Ah,” we thought, “there is no danger here! But on the contrary, it
looks like a grand chance to sink a ship, and, at the same time, send
its crew ashore safely”—the thought we always had in mind when it did
not interfere with our duty.
I rubbed my hands in satisfaction. We would give the crew of the
sailing ship a chance to get aboard the tugboat and so send them home.
Maybe they might also meet the shipwrecked crew of the French sailing
ship and take them aboard.
At top speed we headed for the tugboat. First we circled round our prey
to be sure that we would not be surprised by a masked gun and especially
examined the tugboat, because he traveled back and forth daily through
the danger zone, and would be more apt to be armed than would the
sailing ship coming from a long voyage.
There was nothing suspicious to be seen—therefore we advanced. We
approached the stern of the tugboat, slowed down, and, within calling
distance, kept pace with him. Gröning, Petersen, Lohmann, and a sailor
were with me in the conning tower. The tugboat flew the British flag. I
shouted with the full power of my lungs:
“Take aboard the crew! Take aboard the crew!”
I waved with my left hand toward the sailing ship, in order to make my
meaning clear. The commander of the “little bulldog,” as Petersen called
the tugboat, took his short clay pipe out of his mouth, spat far out
from the bridge where he was standing in a careless attitude, but
otherwise took no notice of us except that he may have thrown a shrewd,
cunning glance our way. I thought he was hard of hearing and drew a
little closer and yelled again:
“Take the crew off!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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