Canaris stayed away from Madrid to avoid enemy agents and awaited his chance to flee from Spain by submarine. The first attempt failed because of bad weather.43 On 12 September he went aboard the German steamer Roma since he ‘no longer felt safe on account of numerous British and French spies’.44 From Roma he contacted a German agent and asked for his help to get him aboard a U-boat.
On 14 September, Kapitänleutnant Arnauld had sailed on the orders of the Admiralty Staff to bring Canaris out.45 He had been given a window of three days, between 30 September and 2 October. With the help of the German agent, Canaris had chartered a fishing boat. The urgency was explained to him by Leutnant zur See Sievers, who was to accompany him on his escape: the head of French espionage in Cartagena was looking for Canaris. The latter felt secure, however: ‘My sudden disappearance from Madrid had caused a stir and enemy spies had begun to look more closely at the usual ports. As I had not been spotted in Cartagena and my hideout aboard Roma was holding, these searches did not alarm me.’46
On 29 September Arnauld headed towards his rendezvous point with Canaris off the Spanish coast. He approached the bay with caution. No boat with the arranged masthead light could be seen. Arnauld decided to wait until iioohrs, when he would have to retire offshore to recharge the batteries. He was seen by two fishing boats and at midday there was an enemy submarine, on the latter occasion he remained undetected. Canaris had not turned up because the charter had been cancelled, the owner fearing arrest if he tried to sail. With German help, Canaris hired a small sailing boat instead with which he passed through the Spanish patrols unseen and reached Salitrona Bay on the evening of 30 September. Here he spotted an enemy submarine submerging. At midnight, Leutnant Sievers came out with a larger sailing boat to which Canaris transferred, the smaller craft being sent back while Sievers began to flash the agreed lamp signal out to sea.
That evening Arnauld in U-35 had cruised the rendezvous line looking for Canaris. He saw two dark forms without navigation lights and ran towards shore at high speed to elude them. At 0200hrs a third darkened vessel materialised blinking a light message seawards. Arnauld thought he had been discovered and dived. He wrote in his report later:
At o354hrs I surfaced in the bay and noticed a sailing vessel with a top lantern flashing our recognition signal three times over. I laid off this boat about 3oo metres away for two hours and gave my recognition reply at least ten times. Nothing happened. Later the top-lantern was extinguished . . . I did not want to approach her for fear of betraying myself.47
Towards five that morning, Canaris’s boat headed for the open sea. Arnauld followed it to the rendezvous line and was then forced to dive when an enemy submarine appeared. The two suspicious trawlers were also drifting in the area. Shortly after sunrise one trawler approached Canaris’s boat. Canaris and the other two German officers hid themselves below deck in the sand ballast.48 The trawler stopped close by the stern and mariners wearing French naval uniform looked into the boat. Seeing only the Spanish crew, the trawler then left.
Arnauld wrote: ‘I followed the boat, gradually overtaking her. The trawler remained in sight astern. The boat hoisted a red pennant abaft the sail. I surfaced fifty metres away, a couple of sea-miles offshore and within five minutes Kapitänleutnant Canaris, Leutnant zur See Sievers and his aide Badewitz were aboard and I had dived again.’49 This transfer had been fraught with danger, for the trawler on the rendezvous line had been sounding her fog-horn persistently, from which Arnauld inferred that the enemy submarine was very close by and for some reason had been unable to attack him.50
On 9 October 1916 U-35 arrived at the Austrian naval base of Cattaro with its passengers, and a few days later Canaris was describing the operation to the Admiralty Staff in Berlin, proving how well informed was the enemy secret service regarding German operations. Arnauld was also convinced: ‘The fact that on the first morning, before I had made my presence known, the trawlers were on the rendezvous line with a submarine . . . prove clearly that the time and location of the operation had been betrayed. From this, and the fact that the first scheduled time of the Cartagena voyage was compromised, one must accept that it will be impossible to arrange similar operations if our representatives in Madrid know.’51
Canaris’s superiors at the Admiralty Staff praised his work in the most glowing terms: ‘Kapitänleutnant Canaris . . . has performed the special mission awarded him with such extraordinary industry, skill and prudence that I have recommended him to the All-Highest Office for a decoration.’52 The Kaiser agreed and on 24 October 1916 Canaris received the award of the Iron Cross First Class.53
4
U-boat War in the Mediterranean
In December 1916 the Marineleitung – Naval High Command – pleaded in a memorandum for the introduction of unrestricted U-boat warfare. They had calculated that it would only take five months to force Britain to sue for peace. The measure was opposed by Reich Chancellor Bethmann-Hollweg, who feared that it would provoke the entry of the United States into the war, but finally he gave in.1 ‘Unrestricted U-boat warfare’ meant that enemy merchant shipping could be attacked and sunk without warning. This was an apparent breach of the rules of ‘cruiser warfare’ whereby the crews of merchant vessels had to be given the opportunity to leave their ship in the lifeboats before it was sunk.2 On 1 February 1917 unrestricted U-boat warfare began, and two days later the United States broke off diplomatic relations with Germany.
At first the policy appeared to be ‘paying off’: by the end of April 1917, 841,000 net register tons of shipping space had been destroyed, exceeding the prognosis of the Marineleitung. ‘Those spring weeks of the year 1917 provided perhaps the only period of the First World War in which, six months before the first American units arrived, the defeat of Britain seemed possible.’3
Canaris now entered the fray in this U-boat war. He passed the U-boat commanders’ course at Eckernförde, served for two months in training aboard U-16 and took command of the boat in mid-September. His superior officer wrote of him: ‘Reserved by nature, he has proved himself to be of sterling character and inspires confidence in officers and men. A well-loved comrade. Especially well suited to command a large U-boat or U-cruiser.’4 Canaris was seconded to the Führer der U-boote (FdU) Mediterranean, Kapitän zur See Theodor Püllen, where he received the coveted command of a Front U-boat on 28 November 1917.5
Three weeks later he took UC-27 out of Cattaro on his first patrol, his orders being to mine the entrances to the Algerian harbours used by the Allies and to operate against enemy merchant vessels between Algiers and the Straits of Sicily.6 Things began badly with technical problems: the gyro-compass failed and the sealing rings of the engines leaked. He frequently had to dive the boat on sighting enemy warships or fishing vessels that often operated as scouts;7 no torpedo attacks were possible because of the heavy seas encountered.
On 29 December 1917, UC-27 entered Philippeville (now Sakidah) Bay. In his war diary Canaris wrote: ‘In order to remain unseen, I will come into the coast by day, surface after dark to approach the harbour entrance and then dive to release the mines four to six miles out.’ Two of the eighteen mines he laid exploded prematurely directly astern. ‘Boat heavily shaken. No damage, will continue laying,’ he noted.8
At the beginning of 1918 he steered for Sardinia but sank nothing – it was difficult to angle UC-27 into position for an attack because she was too unwieldy in the heavy swell. The Allies watched the sea from dirigibles and U-boats were forced to dive very frequently. The routine of endless repairs, alarms and unsuccessful attacks was very wearing. On 14 January 1918, UC-27 returned to Cattaro9 and, although Canaris had no successes to report, he received a positive assessment of the voyage10 except for the clear criticism of his tactics. Flotilla-Chief Püllen wrote: ‘If the commander has no success in commerce warfare, then apart from the unfavourable weather conditions the reason is to be found in his lack of experience and that in his known frenzy for activity he did not remain sufficiently cal
m to make systematic observations of the enemy sea traffic.’11
Three days after his return, Canaris was given command of U-34.12 Escorted out of Cattaro harbour by two Austrian torpedo boats and an aircraft, he headed once more for the North African coast,13 but engine failure forced his return the next day.14 Finally, off the Algerian cost on 29 January 1918 he sighted a heavily laden steamer escorted by a cruiser and a trawler. He fired, the torpedo struck the freighter amidships – his first success as a U-boat commander. The next day, while heading for the Straits of Gibraltar, he came across a convoy of five large cargo ships escorted by two Foxglove-Class sloops and several destroyers. The convoy was zig-zagging with a 45-degree turn every fifteen minutes. Canaris put U-34 between the merchant ships and awaited his chance to attack. Just before the next turn was due he torpedoed the 7,000-GRT British Maizar amidships. He dived at once to fifty metres, survived the resultant depth-charge attack and surfaced an hour later. The crippled steamer was about eight sea miles away; of her crew and the escort vessels there was no sign. Canaris noted: ‘Sank steamer with deck gun.’15
Over the next two nights he had the area to himself; the moon was very bright. Canaris headed for Cap Palos, north of Cartagena, an area he knew well.16 On 4 February a large convoy of about eighteen ships materialised on the horizon. He put U-34 into the attack position, fired at an armed transport, missed, and turned and ran to escape two avenging destroyers, failing to see his torpedo hit the British steamer General Church. Another boat, UB-35, saw the cloud rise after the explosion. General Church made port but was severely damaged.
North of Cartagena on the night of 6 February Canaris torpedoed the French steamer Ville de Verdun, which was going from Dakar to Marseilles loaded with wheat and peanuts. She was the last victim of U-34 on this voyage; the Allies were now routing their ships away from Spanish waters. A few days later Canaris returned to Cattaro. He had learned the trade of a U-boat commander quickly, and avoided repeating the errors of his first cruise. Moreover, he had convinced his superiors: his personal file reads ‘He has the ability to be a Front U-boat commander. If he applies himself after further practice, good results are to be expected from him.’17
While U-34 was in the German shipyard at Pola for overhaul, Canaris found time at last to write home. The archives have little of his correspondence, but one of the few letters to his mother that has survived is dated a few days after his first voyage in U-34.18 It was his second letter within a week:
As I wrote earlier, this time I had a much better voyage. I was also really pleased with the fine, big boat. On 26 January I got my first steamer, not far from Algiers. A few days later a big British transport and then a brand new French steamer on her maiden voyage. I took the captain aboard. The run home was quite pleasant. Just before entering harbour I had some difficulties because of bad weather. I have quite a lot of free time here just now, there was a lot of office work to do but only in the first few days; on the whole one can take it nice and easy. At the moment we have glorious weather again.
That Canaris wrote like a holidaymaker was no doubt because he did not wish to distress his mother, whose health was causing him concern. His only mention of the political situation was brief and laconic: ‘I heard about the peace agreement in a radio signal while at sea. It certainly is good news. Now we are a good step further forward.’19 Canaris was also certainly thinking here of the ‘Special Peace’ that was due to be concluded between Germany and Ukraine on 9 February 1918. Unfortunately for Germany, though, the Russian negotiator at the Brest-Litovsk talks, Leon Trotsky, broke off discussions on 10 February without the treaty having been signed.20 The rest of Canaris’s two-page letter was dedicated to his brother and sister and things at home. Only once did he allow his personal sensitivity to show through: ‘I am still very depressed over the news about Rudi. From several other close friends I had heard how affected they are. It is depressing and deprives one of the joy of living.’21 In conclusion he asked to be remembered to his brother and sister and promised to write again within a few days.22 The depressed and resigned mood apparent in the letter was often detected in the course of his career by his superiors, despite his blameless military conduct and appearance. His general health was affected by the bouts of malaria, and his tendency to drive himself unremittingly, to the extent that he frequently gave the impression of being ‘under the weather’. Years later this would lead to a career crisis.23
In the unrestricted U-boat warfare originated by Admiral Tirpitz, Chief of the Admiralty Staff Reinhard Scheer, appointed in July 1918, had immediately shown his mettle. His first act was to create an enormous U-boat-building project known as the ‘Scheer Programme’.24 This title must have been intended to pair his project with the Army’s ‘Hindenburg Programme’ of 1916, involving enormous production demands by the Army High Command to the German war industry.
In March 1918 Canaris was ordered back to Kiel by the U-boat Acceptance Commission25 to work up another boat, UB-128, before sailing it down to Cattaro. As he prepared to cast off from the Blücher Bridge on 1 August, Frau Else Lüdecke, wife of the Dresden commander, who had written him a ‘very pleasant’ letter, brought him flowers, cake and fruit for the voyage. He noted a few days later that it had been an unusually enjoyable eve to his departure.26
The start of his U-boat voyages always seems to have been influenced by a dark star. UB-128 had to turn back to hospitalise an appendicitis case. Near Kiel the rudder machinery failed and UB-128 ran aground. At times like this Canaris would indulge in the luxury of a black mood of despair: ‘It is an ugly morning, rain and gale. I am depressed by the latest events’,27 he wrote in his war diary, particularly preoccupied by the mechanical failure. After he had ‘confessed’ to a superior who took it ‘less tragically’ than he did, Canaris became ‘noticeably calmer’.28 This sensitive and somewhat uncertain side of his personality is in strong contrast to the picture of the skilful and intrepid secret diplomat that is painted in the literature.
On 3 August 1918 UB-128 sailed again. Canaris wrote: ‘Carry out commerce warfare as far as possible without deviating off route.’29 Very recently it had become too dangerous to sail through the Kattegat by day. ‘Today we spent seventeen hours on the bottom. The air got gradually more foul. We were all gasping for breath. Impossible to sleep. Personally I found this long period submerged very unpleasant, but there was nothing else for it.’30 Norwegian territorial waters presented a very grave danger, for the British had set up a new minefield with netting, which was lethal for U-boats.31 While negotiating the waters between the Norwegian cliffs and the minefield the gyro-compass failed: ‘It is a very evil situation. I cannot go back now. I have to try to get through. I manage, steering by the stars.’32 Between Norway and the Atlantic, Canaris might have hoped for a few hours’ undisturbed sleep, but he narrowly avoided a torpedo33 – ‘Escaped by a hair’s breadth,’ he confessed.34 The next disaster occurred on 14 August when the boat lost trim in very heavy seas. The crew was feeling the strain and Canaris had to urge them to concentrate, for mistakes were multiplying. The boat was spending as much time as possible submerged below the hurricane. Water entered the inner hull when a valve sheered off, and crew error was suspected. When the damage was repaired, Canaris gave his officers and men a sermon. What had begun as a simple delivery voyage had turned into a life-and-death saga, the boat had been eight days without radio contact and they had no knowledge of the current situation ashore. Because of the adverse weather too much fuel had been consumed and they could only reach Cattaro if they had favourable weather and with the utmost economy.35 ‘All our calculations and predictions are useless. The situation looks very dismal,’ he wrote.36
On 21 August UB-128 came across an enemy steamer. Champlain was headed for Dakar with 5,300 tonnes of coal. Canaris let her have a torpedo and then opened fire with the deck gun. ‘Got the range with the fourth round. Ten hits. Four lifeboats seen some distance from steamer. Took the captain prisoner from a boat.’37 Canaris sen
t a demolition party aboard the stricken freighter and sank her with explosives. There were no further attacks; the bunkers were too low and the U-boat was seriously damaged. In the end, on 4 September, he reached Cattaro by running on his lubricating oil, thus rounding off a harrowing thirty-three-day voyage.38
So ended Canaris’s last U-boat war patrol. While UB-128 was under repair, the war situation changed dramatically. Canaris had written to his brother advising him of a three-week lay-up and expressing his hopes of receiving good news at Cattaro,39 but what the Mediterranean U-boat commanders heard was anything but good. Martin Niemöller, U-67 commander, wrote later:
In mid-October the Western Front was pulled back and the coast of Flanders evacuated. We understood that this was a major strategic measure to fight for peace on a new shortened front, possible peace for Germany, cost what it might! We no longer had confidence in our allies, but that the suicidal discord was nourished at this moment amongst the German people – that was the crime of 1918.40
The dominant emotion amongst the Imperial Navy officers, watching the war being lost from afar while the Reich for which they had fought fell apart in the Red insurrections, was a feeling of bitter helplessness that would haunt them through the chaos of the postwar years, affecting Canaris in particular. The consciousness of being an elite, which was especially true of the naval officer corps, was shaken to its foundations. With the abandonment of unrestricted U-boat warfare, Scheer and the senior officers involved in the founding of the Commerce War Command – Seekriegsleitung – were ‘cut down in their ambitious plans and hopes for active naval politics and war policy’.41
At the end of October 1918 came the order: ‘All navigable U-boats return home soonest for the final battles: boats unable to sail within twenty-four hours are to be scuttled.’42 The installations at Cattaro and Pola were blown up and the last sixteen U-boats – amongst them Canaris’s UB-128 – set off for Kiel. There were to be no final battles, but the way home for the U-boats of the Mediterranean flotilla was long and dangerous enough. On 2 November Canaris headed at full speed through the Malta Channel, narrowly avoiding an enemy destroyer, after which his boat encountered engine trouble, requiring him to throttle back.43 After zig-zagging past a sailing ship, an enemy convoy escorted by destroyers in the Straits of Sicily and keeping a sharp watch for enemy submarines he reached the Straits of Gibraltar, and was forced to watch from a distance as another U-boat was depth-charged to destruction.44
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