COFFIN OF STEEL.

Taranaki Herald, Volume LXIII, Issue 144855, 6 December 1915, Page 4

COFFIN OF STEEL.

' GERMAN “XT” BOAT. WAITING FOE DEATH. Tho following grim story is from tho pen of the well-known French author Jean Constant. We take it from tho Daily Express, for which journal tiro article was translated: Do you imagine, Gottlieb, that I am so wanting in common sense that I never thought of that moans of escape? As soon as ever I recovered from the - shock and realised that the U3B was sinking, my very first thought was to press tho button which released tho safety lines. Oh, no, nothing camo of it. Probably their d d torpedo, in ramming into us, managed to put the apparatus out of gear. What’s to be done ? Why, nothing. All that there's left for us to do now is to toss off this delicious champagne, which my cousin Klcist sent me from Rheims —and commend our noble souls to God. Of course, 1 know very well that', for Gottlieb von Lienthal and for Otto von Shinned:, this slow asphyxiation death in a coffin of steel is not exactly tho glorious end of which they dreamed. Never mind. Wo are giving our lives for our Kaiser and furthering the glory of Germany. , . I only ordered tho manoeuvre to occupy tho men’s minds. As soon as ever tho truth dawns on them that it is no good, I will distribute alcohol among them—lots of alcohol. It would bo absurd to give those brutes titire to reflect; they would only disturb our last moments on earth by their futile regrots. In a few hours tho accumulators will be played out—tho lights will bo extinguished, wc shall bo in tho darkness—and night. . . TORPEDOED. Do be sensible, Gottlieb. Wo have been torpedoed oil the Scilly Islands—there or somewhere about. Well, this very excellent map, published by the English Admiralty, gives a depth of about 200 feet to these waters. In ordinary times, even in spito of divers and floating docks, wo should bo lost to a dead certainty. How do you think, then, that any ono is going to trouble about us now ? Who’ll do it ? Not tho British Navy, I’ll wager. . . Just so. You are right there. God punish England 1 If it had not been for England’s Navy, ours would have played a glorious role. Now that we aro talking face to face, friend, I am going to confide something to you—something X never dared tell you before.

You are just like a brother to me. But, with ail the spying there is about, who can bo sure-—oven of his own brother ? Often a thoughtless word has been quite enough to ruin a career. Well, what I have to toll you is this—for.them to give us that general order systematically to destroy everything that floats on tho sea, friend or foe, from, the tiny, inoffensive fishing-smack up to the groat ocean liner, lor them to give us orders to sink neutrals as well as cno.nies, makes me think that things aro not going too well with Germany. I know I am right. Tho same idea has struck both of us. They aro nothing* but acts of piracy—tho word is not too strong. v And what is the good of them, except to excite tho hatred of tho whole word against us and to tarnish for ever the good name of the Vatorland? You aglet* with mo, don’t you? THE JOY OF KILLING.

. . . I call “Halil” there. It is not for a soldier to discuss the commands of his chief. No; I was never one to evade the orders given by my superiors in command; ail the same, there is nothing to prevent my being inwardly disgusted at having to carry out such frightful 'commands. Now—yes, I’m almost ashamed to confess it—there was a time 1 used to delight in tbo trjrk. 1 took a sort of Satanic pride in being utterly merciless, in outraging the simplest laws of humanity, in killing for nothing—nothing but the mere pleasure of killing. I used to say to myself, “All the ships that sail round those coasts of" England, little fishing-smacks as well as the great leviathans of the deep—all—all of them fly like the wind at the very sight of my periscope, just like a flock of buffaloes before the tsetse fly. Their captains tremble aa they eagerly scan the horizon through their glasses, their sailors are for ever straining their eyes for any trace of my secret path, their passengers all shiver if anyone so much as whispers the word 'submarine.’ ”

I liked the power I had given me. I’d rise—rise—and like lightning I'd fly along between two waters, and when X heard our men singing on the bridge our “Deutschland über Alles” I’d feel myself some bravo hero of the Nibelungen, some cruel king ruling a great sea. And if, at .times, just a little spark of pity managed to glimmer through the blackness of my soul, to ease my conscience I’d repeat to myself the famous word of our field-marshal, “Warfare is not a 5 o’clock tea.” Yes, I’ll confess it all. Every bit of my enthusiasm in the work has quite disappeared ever since we sank the great Atlantis. That’s quite true. You never saw anything of it. You were so tired out after your long night-watch, and I had not the heart to awaken you. As for me—as for mo—God I how can I ever blot out the memory of it! Oh, it was terrible 1 If you’d seen that great ship with her hundreds of drowning men and women and children get drawn down under the waves 1 1 can still hear the dismal wailings of the passengers and the weeping women and children all huddled up together on the bridge—their useless appeals for mercy. CALL OF THE DEAD. Then—they are all swept off into the sea, struggling, striving, snatching at anything, anything, anything at al'; then being sucked down for ever, dragged down into the whirlpool of the great sinking ship. Then nothing on the sea. 0 Gottlieb I to escape from that terrible nightmare I gave the order to plunge, and for several hours we remained hidden beneath the sea.

what do you think was tho first thing I saw?—tho corpse of a woman, almost naked, holding tightly pressed Against its breast a little child of two or three years old. Hound her neck was ono of tho lifebelts of tho Atlantis. And so, at first, 1 could-not understand why that dead woman should be there, for wo were miles away from tho scene of the catastrophe. Then I noticed that her glorious golden hah had become entangled in ono • of our grappling chains, so wo had pulled her down with us. In spite of her long stay bcncatii tho water she was not at all disfigured. Her features were of the Anglo-Saxon type of beauty. But uno thing I can never forgot the expression in the eyes. I swear to you that they seemed to bo alive.

There was despair in them, and scorn and anger. They looked into mine with a terrible stare; they seemed to monaco me with an undying vengeance. I remember thinking at tho time that the eyes of the Medusa must have been like that 1 Hans was very deeply impressed, and he gently disentangled the floating hair from lire chains, and the two bodies floated away. 1 know you’ll laugh at mo when 1 toll you, but. just at that moment I distinctly heard a voice cry out, “Assassin!” Trembling all over, 1 went downstairs, and to steady my nerves I drank off at ono gull) a whole bottle of champagne. . .

Quite right, Gottlieb. There is really nothing supernatural at alf in it. All the same, you’ll never convince me that that fair drowned woman did not bring us bad luck.

Gottlieb! 1 have just been having a last look at our men. Tiny ore all huddled up together inanimate —at the other side of tho partition. They have been trying to break it down. . .

Yes, indeed, onr turn next. Wc aro just coming to tho end of tho last tube of compressed air. The oxygen will certainly give out before the light does.

I know. I, too, feel it's gening very difficult to breathe. It’s awful, isn’t it, to bo so young, so full of life and health and strength, and to have to — to stay down hero—with our arras crossed—and wait for death. Gottlieb! I’m afraid to dio. Are you ? Oh, Gottlieb 1 They aro there ! Don’t yon understand I—they aro all therewatching us. They aro waiting for us. . . Who’s watching? Who’s waiting? You ask that? Why, thoso that wo murdered—all those innocent victims of our shells and our torpedoes. Thoso poor sailors in their frail little fishingboate up in. the North Sea; thoso French sailors in the Esporu on Dieu, tho Danish ones in the. Elsinore, the Dutch ones in the Batavia, tho Norwegian ones in tho Bergen, the—the fifteen hundred drowned souls in the Atlantis. REMORSE. Do you remember tho Swan, Golto lieb—tho little boat wo sank off Grimsby? You remember, they had only two tiny lifeboats, mere nutshells, in which to save 2d men. Tho sea was rough, Gottlieb, that morning. The captain, an old man, had his four sons on board with him. They Ml clapped their hands —they stretched them out to us—they entreated ns to save them. Don’t you remember, Gottlieb ?—wo laughed ; wo insulted the old man and Jold him to address his prayers to tho English Admiralty. Then, don't you remember, bow clumsy wo were. Gottlieb—somehow we upset thoso two little lifeboats, and we all laughed ! The horror of it I The old man I I see him I He’s here! He’s mocking us in. tho shadows with the others, ‘they aro all dancing ;n a row and holding one another’s hands. Tho women and tho little children are in tho front. X recognise tho olio who leads tho infernal dance. It is tho drowned woman of tho other day, tho one with a look of Medusa in her eyes.

See, Gottlieb, she is making signs to them. She knows we cannot escape! Her eyes aro wild, like balls of lire; the locks of her golden hair aro floating on the waves, all scattered about like the tentacles of an octopus. They are going to clut'-li me! Help, Gottlieb! Help, help! Kamorad! Kamorad!