To the Last Salute: Memories of an Austrian U-Boat Commander

Twenty-Five. The Two Greeks

Twenty-Five.TheTwo Greeks This foggy land is no place for a U-boat, and U-14 steers slowly and carefully to her original hunting territory, Cape Matapan. On the way we meet one steamer traveling singly, and I shoot a torpedo . . . and miss. This time I rake myself over the coals and would like to box my own ears in front of a mirror, but I don’t have one. For days nothing comes into view. Then the lookout reports a sail under Cape Matapan that is heading from Cape Sapienza toward land. Finally a change in the tedious life on board. Immediately I challenge the schooner to heave to with a gunshot . But she does not respond and flees farther toward land. A second shot is impossible because the counter-recoil mechanism is broken. So we haul up the machine gun. U-14 travels full speed; I want to cut off the sailboat from land before he comes into Greek territorial waters. I stop short. “Are we at war with Greece?” No one knows. Lately, from all parts of the world, declarations of war have come flying in. Some come from countries that could never think of engaging in the war and are only out to seize freighters that had fled into their previously neutral harbors. Others might have been pressured by the Central Powers. Whether Greece was among those no one knows. I inquire throughout the boat. No one remembers having heard about it. But for the present the sailboat is still two miles from land and is consequently outside the territorial waters. A couple of shots from the machine gun cause the captain to raise his hands in surrender, but he still moves right along. Only a second salvo induces him to heave to and let the sails luff. He THETWO GREEKS 107 bears the Greek flag and understands enough Italian that he puts a boat into the water and comes over. Already from afar he waves something that close at hand turns out to be a beautiful old icon. Now we can see only the silver frame glinting in the sun. At the same time, he calls loudly as if to confirm, “Long live Austria! Long live Austria!” Then he jumps on board, runs aft to kiss the red, white, and red flag, comes with many bows to the conning tower, and gushes about his solemn declaration, “Long live Constantine, long live Constantine, not Venizelos!” He means Constantine, the king of Greece, whose words carry no weight because he is no longer able to effectively oppose Venizelos, the war instigator—so the captain is declaring his loyalty to the peace-loving party. He rejects any blame for an eventual declaration of war. There he stands, tanned, slight, in a shabby gray civilian suit, an expression half sly, half frightened in his sharply etched face, and talks uninterruptedly. And as his Italian is sorely lacking, he uses his hands and feet to help as he protests and assures. Then he puts his hand in his breast pocket and pulls out photographs . Where on earth did he get these? Franz Joseph, Conrad von Hötzendorf, the German Emperor, Hindenburg . . . a whole pack of famous men from the Central Powers. “Sir, on the other side he probably had Poincaré, Grey, and his associates,” says Scheure. “Just look at him; this is a real Grego!” But at such a boat inspection you could catch lice. The sailboat comes from Calamata with raisins for Piraeus. A beautiful schooner, with such fine lines! With her fine tall white sails luffing in the light breeze she resembles an enticing fairy that is inviting the rough U-boat companions to continue farther with her into the realm of the many islands. Where once Odysseus got lost and then couldn’t tear himself away. Farther into the East where men smoke Tschibuk with their black coffee 108 THETWO GREEKS and have acquired or kept enough wisdom—that for them time has not yet become money. Into the land of a thousand and one nights . . . I keep looking to the schooner where my men are waiting to blow up the ship. “A fine ark, that. It would be a shame to sink the beautiful sailboat. He can do us no harm. Let him go!” And over to the schooner: “Hello! Throw the deck cargo overboard, don’t blow up the ship...