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EDITOR'S
NOTE: A 15 year old mystery
of the great war was cleared up for the first time today when Capt.
Wilhelm Meyer, retired commander of the German submarine U-77,
revealed that his sinking of the British transport Tuscania on Feb.
5, 1918, with a loss of 204 American lives, was "sheer good luck."
At the time of the disaster, the sinking was put down to the work of
German spies in the United States, who were accused of divulging the
Tuscania's departure and her position on the high seas. Captain
Meyer has been invited to attend a meeting of the Tuscania's
survivors in Chicago February 5.
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By CAPTAIN WILHELM MEYER -
BERLIN
Jan. 4, 1933-(INS)- Survivors
of the Tuscania were kind enough to invite me to their meeting on
February 5, commemorating the sinking of the vessel by my submarine,
the UB-77. The invitation stresses the fact that there are no
thoughts of bitterness or revenge lingering in the |
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The whole
caravan was flanked with what looked to us like myriads of
destroyers. I cruised above the water back and forth and in front of
the advancing transports, trying to ascertain the chances of
attack. |
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hearts of the
survivors of that catastrophe. They recognize that I and members of
the crew of the U-77 merely did our duty as duty was understood at
that time.
The U-77 was
ranked as a class B submarine. Of 500 tons displacement, it was
placed in service in 1917. It had five torpedo tubes and carried a
crew of 34 men. My submarine saw 32 months of service without
receiving a scratch. It was a tragedy that the craft had to be
handed over to the British as a result of the armistice terms.
The sinking of
the Tuscania was laconically mentioned in German Admiralty reports,
which were necessary brief. In view of the friendly invitation I
believe that a friendly resume of the details of the sinking would
be interesting.
The sinking was pure luck from our point of view at the time.
We had been
cruising off the northern Irish coast for several weeks, without
once having to dive to save ourselves from attacks by British
cruisers, which were supposed to be as thick as fish in that region.
Having given up hope of sighting prey in that area, I decided to
head for the entrance to the north channel, intending to enter the
Irish sea from the north.
At 5:50 p.m., on
Feb. 5, 1918, I decided to scan the horizon for one last look at the
Atlantic.
With surprise and trembling I spotted and enormous cloud of black
smoke on the western horizon heading directly toward us. I
immediately ordered the U-77 swung around and headed directly toward
the smoke cloud, which was advancing southeasterly toward the
channel, evidently having taken the extreme north route across the
Atlantic.
Soon I was able
to detect a huge seagoing caravan, headed by a medium-sized vessel,
followed by a larger white vessel with two smoke stacks, a large
cruiser with four smokestacks and from six to eight smaller
vessels. |
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I resolved to
attack. I steered northeast. Dusk made visibility poor. There was
constant danger we might under estimate the speed of the transports
and be run down in their path.
I had decided to attack without submerging.
Suddenly,
however, the destroyers pulled up all along the line, so that the
leading destroyer was abreast of the leading transport. I thought we
had been detected. We might easily have been seen because we were
directly ahead of an advancing triple line consisting of a
destroyer, a transport and another destroyer.
When there was
no further sign that we have been detected I decided to submerge.
By the time darkness had fallen, sighting through the periscope of
the U-77 was almost impossible. I had taken a good look at the
largest transport before submerging but once we were beneath the
water, I could not find it through the periscope. My hands trembled
as I moved the sighting apparatus, because I knew that if I stayed
much longer where we were, the submarine would be rammed and sunk.
Suddenly a vague
ghostly shadow crept across the sighting mirror. Then atop this
shadow appeared the outlines of a smoke stack.
I recognized this shadow as the largest transport. I immediately
ordered two torpedoes fired. The crew and I listened in suspense for
many minutes. Then a terrific detonation told us that we had hit our
target. Judging from the time the torpedoes were under way before
they struck, we were 4,000 feet away from our prey.
We waited
breathlessly for the shock of depth bombs which destroyers
customarily dropped against submarines after their presence was
noted, but we felt nothing. Probably it was because we were to far
away. When we returned to surface we saw the stricken Tuscania
listing heavily to starboard. |
