After a 3-month course of theory and infantry drilling at the Naval Academy at Flensburg, Muerwick, followed by a 3-month term of practical naval training on board the school ship S.M.S. Freya, the midshipmen of the crew I belonged to were distributed in September, 1918, to different battleships of the German High Seas Fleet.
It was my good luck that I was ordered on board the S.M.S. Von der Tann, one of the five splendid battle cruisers of the first reconnaissance squadron of the German Navy. When I boarded the ship at Wilhelmshafen, it was the “harbor turn” of the squadron. At that time the German Navy forces were divided into three units. One was always at advance duty far out in the North Sea, serving as a protection for the mine layers and mine sweepers. Another unit fully prepared to put to sea for immediate action lay under steam at Schilligreede, the roadstead of the Navy. Still another unit was at its home station, and the crews could enjoy the rest and recreation of the harbor. So when I joined the battle fleet, S.M.S. Von der Tann belonged to the last unit. Shortly thereafter until late in October, 1918, our squadron exchanged the respective turns with the other units as explained, and it was not until October 27, 1918, that we were again ready for our weekly harbor turn. On that date the Von der Tann received orders to leave Schilligreede and to dock at the pier at Wilhelmshafen. After our 3-week turn at sea, we were all glad to have the usual week’s rest in the good old war harbor, but we hoped too soon.
At noon on October 29 a sudden order came to put to sea again, and it so happened that at 3:30 the same afternoon the Von der Tann again went through the locks outbound while a thick fog hovered over the coast and prevented any view. We had no idea as to where we were bound until after a short while the anchor chain roared down and our sea trip was terminated for the time being. We naturally knew we were just a few miles out; the fog, however, made any outlook impossible, and only the usual fog warning signals with the ship’s bells interrupted the silent, tense atmosphere on board the ship.
We imagined that a serious and important reason must have caused the sudden break in the usual routine of our harbor turn. When I just mentioned a certain tense atmosphere on board, I have to explain that something most extraordinary had happened a short time before; something incomprehensible and absolute foreign to my strict feeling of the spirit of discipline. The occurrence I am talking about was this: When the command to put to sea was given, the firemen free-watch (liberty party) that was on leave in Wilhelmshafen until noon had overstayed its leave and had failed to return to the ship. A check-up at the locks showed about sixty men missing. Immediately our captain ordered a special patrol of thirty men to be made up of petty officers and senior able seamen. These men, equipped with rifles and led by an armed officer, were sent back from the locks to Wilhelmshafen with the order to pick up the missing men. The result of their mission was successful. That same evening the patrol returned on a large coast-guard boat, bringing back with them the greater part of the firemen. Naturally we spent that night in great excitement discussing the latest unusual event and we hardly dared voice our secret hope that this time a serious attempt was in the making to seek a decisive battle With the Grand Fleet of the British and their allies and associates.
It was late when I fell asleep. In my dreams I heard our guns thundering when I suddenly realized that the anchor chain, which ran directly above our quarters in the forecastle of the ship, was being hoisted. This caused the roaring noise. At the deep, loud sound of our siren I was fully awake and knew that we were going again. In a few moments I was on deck but the thick fog was still hanging over us and our ship moved slowly against the impenetrable gray wall while the day was dawning. After a few hours the anchor came roaring down and we realized that we must be at Schilligreede again. Finally the fog began to get thinner and out of the grayish, foggy mass the contours of S.M.S. Seydlitz, Von Moltke, Derfilinger, and Von Hindenburg began to unveil themselves, in other words, the first reconnaissance Squadron consisting of the five battle cruisers was fully assembled. But now as the fog lifted and the distances became Clearer, I witnessed (just as a moving picture shows new action every second) the Painting of a panorama so magnificent that it can hardly be told. Battleship after battleship, cruisers, and destroyers emerged like magic out of the mist.
Next to us were the battleships of the Helgoland class, the First Squadron, then followed the Kaiser class, Squadron No. 4, and the Koenig class with the flagship of the fleet, Baden, in the center. The light cruisers and destroyers formed the outer part of the big circle which contained the best units of our High Seas Fleet. This certainly offered a most imposing view. Not since the Battle of Jutland had all these forces been united. It gave me a feeling of great pride to see so many wonderful ships ready to steam out and in battle force a decision against the British Grand Fleet which might bring the war to an end favorable to Germany.
Little did I then know that this hour was to be the climax of my young career and simultaneously my farewell to the Navy, a Navy that I had watched growing from my earliest youth and to join which had always been my yearning, passionate desire. While pride and enthusiasm sparkled in my mind and body, again something incomprehensible happened, something that to me was like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky. Part of the crew began to gather on deck, milling about in disorder, grumbling, and asking to see the captain. As I found out, their reasoning was this: The sailors could not see the sense of any heroic attempt to send out the fleet to what every loyal German had hoped would be a successful move to end the war. The enlisted men felt that it would be a useless sacrifice of men; they had ideas of pacifism and of brotherhood. They believed from what they had heard that the sailors of the British Navy felt the same, that they, too, were tired of war and did not wish to shed more blood, and that they were ready for reconciliation. To make a long story short, our men requested the captain to take the ship back to the harbor and guarantee freedom from punishment to those aforementioned resistant firemen.
Our captain gave his answer in an appropriate short address to the crew. He tried to convince them that it would be utterly foolish at that particular moment to expect brotherly love from England and that, on the contrary, a mutinous German Navy would be an easy prey for the enemy. He appealed to them to stay loyal, to think of their oath of allegiance, and to follow the order of the leader of the High Seas Fleet, Admiral Von Hipper, hero of the Battle of Jutland. The sailors accepted his speech quietly but rather coldly and without signs of revived enthusiasm. It had a pacifying effect, however, and they returned in order to their quarters.
A few hours later we received our order to steam back into Wilhelmshafen, an order that naturally was a terrible disappointment to me. I further noticed that the other squadrons and cruisers began to disperse also, and I realized now that all plans for a concentrated action of the Navy must have been abandoned. As I learned later on, similar occurrences of open resistance had taken place on many other battleships. It was this weakening of the men’s discipline that had caused the High Command to cancel the planned attack.
Thus, on the afternoon of October 31, 1918, saw S.M.S. Von der Tann again tied against the pier in the Wilhelmshafen basin. The crew seemed to be thoroughly satisfied for their wishes had been granted, and there were no more signs of rebellion. The next day brought the announcement that for a change our place of rest was to be Cuxhafen. There was no objection on the part of the sailors, and early in the morning of November 2 we left Wilhelmshafen and reached our new goal at noon. But here, too, we were fated not to stay very long. November 4 we steamed out for some maneuvering and evolution practice. My place was as usual high up at the foremast station. From my lofty position the excellent weather permitted a fine view of our exercises in formation, together with S.M.S. Derfflinger and Von Moltke. In the evening the squadron anchored close to the Elbe lightship. There we also stayed the next day.
Preparations for coaling the ship were started early on November 6, but came to a sudden stop when unexpectedly at 8:00 a.m. the crew was called to the after deck. The captain appeared shortly thereafter and advised us of bloody disturbances at Kiel. He told us that several ships had hoisted the red flag and that he had just received the order to regard those vessels as enemy ships.
This latest news was a shock to me, for I certainly would never have believed that such an order would have to be given in the German Navy, the Navy that had been the pride of the whole nation for more than a quarter of a century. The crew accepted the news in perfect discipline and showed no indication of any resistance.
Though we had not heard the details of the mutiny at Kiel and its effect upon the other marine bases, we felt that the situation in the war harbors of the North Sea was a very serious one too.
Directed by the order just mentioned and with the possibility that the mutinous our three loyal battle cruisers to prevent such a disgrace to the Fatherland. Therefore, all day long the squadron cruised along the coast, just far enough out to see the coast line, but with the exception of a few loyal mine sweepers we did not sight any other vessels. At dark the ships moored at sea and from the location of our respective lighthouse flashes, I figured that we had anchored in about the center of the imaginary triangle of Wilhelmshafen, Cuxhafen, and Helgoland, thus blocking the principal lane out to the open North Sea.
After a few hours we heard that the land station Schilligreede had wirelessed the message, “The three battle cruisers should in accordance with the spirit of Kiel and Wilhelmshafen either hoist the red flag or leave the roadstead.”
We now knew that Wilhelmshafen had joined the rebellious example of Kiel and that the worst was to be expected. Our squadron leader naturally refused to accept such an order. He did permit, however, a group of six men from each of the three cruisers to be sent to Schilligreede for the purpose of negotiations. Our ships remained at the same spot and nothing exciting happened during the day. Then suddenly events began to happen rapidly. The next afternoon, November 8, the crew had grown tired of waiting for further negotiations, and they elected a sailors’ council out of their own ranks. This council now demanded immediate action from the captain to take the ship back into Wilhelmshafen. Our captain tried to get permission from the commanding admiral of our squadron who was on the flagship Von Moltke.
By this time practically the whole crew was on deck waiting for action. As the answer from the Von Moltke was delayed, the sailors began to get unruly and excited. Soon they were in open turmoil, yelling and shouting. The captain now made his last appeal. He asked the men if they wanted to wait for the admiral's answer or if they wished to decide for themselves. "Steam in at once!" was the cry that burst from hundreds of throats and sounded so uniform as to resemble a dramatic recital from a chorus that might have practiced for some time to shout this sentence. Now all bounds of discipline were gone—nothing could hold these men back. Delirious with rebellion, without waiting for orders they began to raise the anchor and start the ship.
Since our captain had had no orders from his superior, he, as well as his officers, left the bridge, leaving the responsibility and handling of the ship to the crew. He knew it would be useless to try to resist such a feverish, excited mob.
The sailors on their part, however, must have been afraid of some counteraction or plot by the officers because immediately they placed armed guards at all important sections of the ship, e.g., the different magazines, the engine- and boiler-rooms, wireless station, etc. But no harm was done to any of the officers who stayed quietly in their quarters.
In the meantime, the admiral on board of the Von Moltke had wirelessed permission to our captain to take S.M.S. Von der Tann into the harbor. So the captain and his officers again took their places on the bridge in order to bring the ship safely into the locks. The crew co-operated gladly. This time they were looking toward their home-station harbor, not toward the enemy; so their obedience was for their own good.
As soon as we had passed the locks and had entered the harbor proper, a spectacle followed which I shall never forget and which will always be before my eyes. The news that the last three loyal battle cruisers of the fleet were coming in and had decided to join the rest of the rebellious ships had naturally spread ahead of us.
It was dark when we began to pass the long line of ships in the harbor. Powerful searchlights started to play on us from practically all sides, blinding us and adding to the general confusion. Then suddenly the crews of the many vessels lining the rails of their ships began to break out in deafening roars of welcome, of loud cheers, and cries of “hurrah” that got wilder and more tumultuous as we continued to proceed to the pier. We thought that this enthusiasm was caused by the mere evidence of our arrival. Little did we suspect that we were looked upon as somebody who was supposed to be dead, who came from the grave, or, as in our case, so to speak, from the bottom of the sea. It was only later that we saw the headlines of the day’s newspaper publishing a report about the sinking of the Von der Tann, explaining how, according to rumors, our captain had run the ship on a mine, and how only seventy men had been saved out of the whole crew of nearly a thousand sailors. So, involuntarily our ship had been put in the limelight of the whole harbor’s attention, and that explained the just mentioned dramatic episode which finally ended with our tying up at the pier.
Immediately pamphlets were brought on board and distributed, explaining the whole situation. The working men and soldiers’ council jointly with the governor of Wilhelmshafen had issued the nine points:
- Gave freedom to all political prisoners.
- Allowed complete freedom of press and speech.
- Ordered the cancellation of letter censoring.
- Asked for proper treatment of the sailors by the officers.
- Guaranteed free return on board to all members of the crew who had deserted.
- Permitted unrestricted personal freedom to every sailor from the time off duty until return to duty.
- Welcomed all officers who wished to cooperate with the soldiers’ council—officers who did not possess the confidence of the crews were to be dismissed.
- Rescinded the old established duty of military salute.
- Arranged that all new principal methods were to be promulgated only with the agreement of the council.
The pamphlet closed with the announcement that all these points were strict orders for every military person and were to be obeyed implicitly. It was signed by the Committee of Five and the Council of Twenty-one.
Since there was no duty for us on board the next morning, we midshipmen went down town. The city was quiet and without disturbance of any kind. The only incident unusual to us was the absence of all salutes. We returned aboard about noon.
At two o’clock all men were called on deck. The captain announced his cooperation with the soldiers’ council. He then read a wireless message that British cruisers had been sighted on the German coast line. He appealed to the men to put the ship back into fighting condition for any case of emergency, and he closed his address with the words, “Everybody get ready to coal.” The crew did not seem to be particularly convinced by the captain’s words, so a member of the council made a speech agreeing with the captain. Finally the men went to their quarters and began to change clothing for the coaling.
While we were waiting for the coal tender to come alongside, word was received at 4:30 p.m., November 9, 1918, that the Kaiser had renounced his throne and was in full flight from the country. As soon as this news began to circulate, all thoughts of the coaling were forgotten. The German war flag, which up to this time was still at the masthead, came down, and it was five o’clock that same afternoon when the red flag, the sign of the revolution, went up on S.M.S. Von der Tann. We then felt that the war was over.
Postscript.—Had any of these men at that time only suspected what actually did happen to the German Navy after the end of the war, I firmly believe that not one sailor would have mutinied. But these men had been the victims of continuous communistic propaganda whenever they were at their home station harbors. They had been talked into those bolshevistic ideas, and the monotony of ship life combined with the inactivity of the fleet allowed the germ of slight dissatisfaction to grow until it finally reached the developed form of open mutiny. It was one of the great mistakes the German Admiralty made during the war when it ignored the mental attitude of its sailors. The headquarters were so absolutely sure of the unlimited loyalty of their men that they slighted any communistic action and paid no attention to it. That explains why they did not even try to do something to strengthen the morale of those tired ship crews and cheer them up in any way. The majority of the rebellious sailors certainly woke up, when the never-expected order of the peace treaty came to disarm the High Seas Fleet, and to prepare our fine battleships for surrender to England. This realization, that a big mistake had been made, came too late. The last heroic and successful action of those sailors, however, the scuttling of the surrendered High Seas Fleet at Scapa Flow, redeemed the true and glorious spirit of the former Navy, when ship after ship went to the bottom of the sea flying the old imperial war flag and command standards.