by Erich Topp
The old sacrificial grounds of the Aztecs lie on a high plateau completely surrounded by a mountain range and guarded by the snowy summits of the Pococa- tepetl and the Ixtacihuatl. The ceremony conjures up images both magnificent and terrifying. It must have been an impressive sight when the various tribes in their colorful costumes took their place on the designated areas around the pe rimeter of the courtyard, awaiting the procession of the thousands of victims in their white gowns marked by the symbols of death, and as the latter were then dispatched, facing the winged dragon, by the familiar triangular cut. The hearts were pulled from the bodies and collected in a wide sacrificial bowl, while the dead were pushed down from the heights of the pyramid. Only a select few were awarded the status of a deity for the duration of one year. They had access to every dwelling in the city, and women considered themselves fortunate to be impregnated by these gods. Herr von Kugelgen suggests that in those days notions of racial purity may have played a role.
April 22, 1935
Along with three other cadets I am invited to eat dinner with our commanding officer in Captain Lutjens's cabin. He tells us about his experiences in the World War, especially about the fight for the jetties that protected the approaches to Zeebrugge in Belgium, an engagement whose eighteenth anniversary will be tomorrow. Zeebrugge was a U-boat base of immense strategic importance. Farther inland, in Bruges, the Germans maintained submarine repair facilities. Two canals connected Bruges with the sea, one leading to Zeebrugge, the other to Ostend. The British attack was directed against the locks at both those places. According to the plan, a cruiser was supposed to keep the German batteries on the jetties occupied while two other vessels endeavored to neutralize the locks and the port by scuttling themselves in the channel. The attack was carried out with much courage, but in the end it accomplished little.
April 26, 1935
We enter the port of Houston. A long ship channel connects Houston with the sea and its traditional port, Galveston. Ever since the channel has been deepened to accommodate ocean-going vessels, Galveston has lost much of its former business to Houston.
It is raining cats and dogs. Our commanding officer, the executive officer, and the pilot on the bridge have donned oilskin clothing. On the pier we see only a few umbrellas. In my capacity as Captain Lutjens's personal aide it is my responsibility to handle the onslaught of the press representatives, all of whom would like to interview the commanding officer personally. 7 he captain's cabin is soon filled to capacity. The others will have to wait their turn. But we underestimate the tenacity of these seasoned reporters. Disregarding our arrangements, they enter the captain's quarters from the outer deck and through his personal study. It is not easy to get rid of them. The floor is covered with cigarette butts.
April 28, 1935
We get to know Houston a little better. Thanks to the oil business it is a growing city, but it seems to lack character. The only exception are the mansions of the oil barons in their park-like surroundings.
May 1, 1935
Today our thoughts reach out to our Heimat as we celebrate Labor Day. For us it is a day of honor for all working men, a visible expression of our people's com munity where there is no room for class hatred. where everyone respects everyone else as either a worker of the fist or a worker of the mind, and where everyone is convinced of the contributions that the others make to society.
May 2, 1935
We undertake a trip to Galveston. At high speed we pass through the countryside in military vehicles, for we are guests of the U.S. Navy. The enormous heat reminds us of the conditions in Mexico just a few weeks ago.
Galveston, generously designed, impresses us with its many trees, bushes, flowers, and lawns. A wide avenue hugs the waterfront along the beach. We stop, leave our cars, and wade into the onrushing waves, some of them as tall as we are. This we have missed for a long time. Our hosts go out of their way to provide entertainment for us, and we spend a pleasant time well into the night hours.
May 4, 1935
Many Houstonians have come to take leave of us under bright, sunny skies. Once again we follow the ship channel out into the Gulf of Mexico.
We really felt at home in Houston. The people were most hospitable and understanding. For us sailors and cadets it was so much easier to establish contact with the local population here than in San Pedro and San Francisco. What may explain the difference? Was there still the memory of the Civil War and the suffering it brought? We met many soldiers who had fought in the World War against Germany and had been assigned to the occupation forces. It is well known that after all wars the soldiers of both sides will provide the first points of contact. Was it their influence that allowed us to find so many friends in Houston? Or was it simply curiosity, or perhaps sympathy for what has happened in the new Germany?
May 10, 1935
Through a wall of mist and rain we get our first glimpse of Charleston, South Carolina. Our eyes catch the huge bridge, the many piers and landings for the fishing boats, a few small shipyards, virtually all without business. As far as we can make out the city's skyline, there are no skyscrapers; instead, its most outstanding feature is the very tall steeple of a church.
May 11, 1935
We go ashore for the first time. A friendly American offers to take us sightseeing for an hour in his car. One hour turns out to be too short, and before we know it we have spent the entire evening with him. The city looks almost European with its many houses from the colonial period. It also boasts one of the oldest theaters in America. It is only natural that our host points out his hometown's brightest features: Charleston has the third-largest bridge in the world, the oldest drugstore, and the oldest "society," not to mention the most beautiful girls.
We spend the evening in a mixed company of Americans, Englishmen, and a Frenchman. Even though the possession and sale of alcohol is strictly forbidden in this state, we are told there is hardly a family without it. Everyone is eager to have the best whisky. The more bloodshed and criminal cunning is involved in its procurement, the better it tastes and the stronger its effects-as we can testify ourselves, for we could hardly conceal the latter as we made our way hack on board.
May 12, 1935
A German-American from Charleston who is still in command of his mother tongue takes us on a tour of the countryside. We drive for many miles without encountering a human soul. After some 60 miles we reach a small town, Walterboro. The low population density goes back to the times when the land was divided up into large plantations with slaves as the principal work force. The Methodist church is the center of town, very modest in style and decoration. The pastor is dressed in ordinary civilian clothes, with a rose in his buttonhole, and during his sermon he keeps both hands in his pockets. Behind him on a platform a group of girls in white gowns takes up formation and delights us sailors with their angels' voices. During hymns the congregation rises, during prayers the people remain seated on the pews. The women use huge fans to keep comfortable in the tremendous heat. We are glad to leave the church and enjoy a natural breeze and bright skies once again.
For lunch we are invited to the local hotel. The food is great and we listen to many speeches, including one with a rather odd conclusion, namely, that America is really a German country, not only because of the many German immigrants over the years but because the British and the Dutch came originally from Germany as well.
In the afternoon we inspect a so-called SCC (State Conservation Camp) for the unemployed. For $30 per month every man must work six hours per day, not all that different from the way it is in Germany. The remaining hours are reserved for entertainment and education. The latter is the responsibility of special instructors.
On the way back we pass through Summerville, a very attractive country town, lush green and pretty with its clean white wooden houses. By the time dusk falls we are passing through a dense forest with fog slowly settling on nearby meadows. It reminds me of the country around Oldenburg back home.
May
14, 1935
This afternoon another German-American, a Verdun veteran, takes us on a tour of Fort Sumter, one of the two forts that used to guard the entrance to Charleston. In front of the casemates of the other fort are buried the remains of the Indian chief Oneola. We are told that he had been asked by the white men to show up for some negotiations. When he did, he was arrested and later died from his treatment in captivity.
May 16, 1935
This afternoon I befriended two West point cadets. After showing them around our vessel, we exchanged the cockades of our caps as souvenirs. One of them was the grandson of Vice Admiral Charles Wilkes, the Antarctic explorer.
Later that evening we gave our farewell party on board. Besides a number of beautiful young ladies, many German-Americans were present. When the time came to take leave, an elderly man, who had entertained us earlier with many jokes, suddenly had tears in his eyes. As if in a hurry to leave the ship, he shook everyone's hand and disappeared into the night.
May 18, 1935
The signal flag "A' for America comes down; instead we set "E" for Europe. It is not easy to leave America behind, especially the personal friendships that have grown over the weeks that we spent here. But America and Germany are also very different in many ways. The Americans are a people with a brief history and few traditions. Their rugged individualism characterizes the entire population and determines the political system. Ethnically, America represents an almost incredible mix, but it has produced men that are handsome, strong and healthy, good-natured and hospitable.
How one-sided this judgment was, and to what extent I had to correct it, I learned when I spent a longer period of time in the United States from 1958 to 1961.
May 22, 1935
Our forecastle and quarter deck are awash from the heavy breakers of an angry sea. It is difficult to concentrate on our course of instruction, as benches and tables are constantly in motion. Not a ray of light penetrates into our living quarters, and the air is stale.
In the evening we listen to a Fuhrer address, but because of poor radio conditions we pick up only fragments of his speech. These days of tremendous change in Germany's military posture are the backdrop before which the Fuhrer reassures feverish world opinion in a speech before the Reichstag of his and Germany's unwavering commitment to peace. The speech is based on a simple premise: We will disarm to the last man as long as everyone else does likewise. Since nobody except us seems prepared for such a step, it was a matter of our honor and security, not to mention the danger of a power vacuum in central Europe, for us to rearm. We will not reduce our present strength by a single soldier. The Fuhrer leaves open the question of offensive weapons, such as heavy tanks, bombers, and submarines, which should be limited by international agreement. The fleet will be restricted to 35 percent of that of the Royal Navy. Another naval race is out of the question. Germany recognizes England's hegemony at sea. Germany's interests are decidedly continental in scope.
May 31, 1935
Today we celebrate the anniversary of the Battle of Jutland. The old and our new service flags are hoisted together, symbolizing the common attitude and spirit that unite the former and the new Navy. The commanding officer in his address talks about the Battle of Jutland, the mightiest clash of battle fleets ever, and how the invincibility of the British fleet was reduced to a mere myth. Then he speaks about the Red Revolution-so painful and humiliating because it started in the Navy-before the deed of Scapa Flow, where Admiral Ludwig von Reuter scuttled the German fleet just as it was to be handed over to the British, restored the honor of the German Navy.
June 10, 1935
At last we enter German territorial waters. The Heimat greets us with an impressive display of sheet-lightning over the horizon. For a long time we sit together on the forecastle, taking in the warm smell of hay and earth wafting toward us from the coast. We have missed it for so long. It reminds me of springtime in the Luneburg Heath, where I grew up. Another cadet next to me thinks it may have been the soothing smell of fir trees in the Harz Mountains. Then, suddenly, the wind freshens up, the tide begins to roll in, and the sea stirs as rival currents vie for dominance. A heavy thunderstorm chases us below.
June 15, 1935
We enter the Holtenau locks at Kiel. The commanding admiral of the Baltic Station extends his official welcome. Then comes the moment everyone has been waiting for, as we leave the locks, enter Kiel Bay, and hoist our home pennant. Unfortunately, the latter comes loose and is carried off by the wind. Slowly, majestically, we swing around into the great naval base. Things look very different from last year. In the Wik we see the pocket battleship Scheer and also the Gorch Fock. I remember very well the morning a year ago when we had to climb up to the top yards and bring out three hurrahs when the Karlsruhe returned from an earlier cruise.
One after another we pass the cruisers Leipzig and Konigsberg, the pocket battleship Deutschland, and the old Schleswig-Holstein, all moored to large buoys in the bay, and exchange hurrahs with all of them. Many small and even odd vessels, such as the replica of a Hanseatic cog, have come out to greet us. Flags are everywhere. Hundreds of yachts and smaller sailing boats enliven the waters around us. The Hindenburgdamm and the Blucherbrucke are packed with people as we finally moor across from the Fourth Torpedo-boat Squadron. Hurrahs and shouts of "Sieg Heil" echo back and forth. Our band strikes up and plays its most arousing pieces.
From the forward platform I enjoy a wonderful view over the whole affair. Everyone is trying to pick out familiar faces in the crowd. Waving arms and hands indicate successful contacts. Soon the gangway is in place and the reunions can begin. In our living quarters we practice a miniature Flange Luci. We put on our blue uniforms, and then it's down the gangway straight into my mother's arms. Everyone tries to get away from the crowds and start talking about our adventures. There are enough stories to last for days, and we have many grateful listeners. Many of us believe that day in Kiel was the most exciting one of our voyage; certainly it was among the most memorable.
Comment:
The midshipman cruise had several purposes. It (1) familiarized us with the functions of a warship over a long period of time and under unusual climatic conditions far from home; (2) brought a class of cadets to gether, through strict discipline and service requirements as well as the daily sharing of life in cramped quarters, as a genuine band of comrades, Crew 34; (3) acquainted us with foreign peoples, customs, and cultures; and (4) made us representatives and ambassadors of the new Germany.
The last-mentioned objectives were especially challenging, and we did not always live up to them. We rarely established real contact with foreign nationals because of our obligations toward the local German colonies. San Francisco alone had seventy-five such organizations. For the most part they consisted of simple people with limited horizons, hardly equipped to further our education about the world abroad. We simply lacked the basis-beyond the superficial data sheets handed to us in every port-to learn about and assess the various economies, customs, and cultures in a proper way.
The image of the Germany we thought we knew and wanted to represent seemed badly distorted through propaganda, especially in North America. Our efforts to clarify the record had to remain limited. The successes of the National Socialist leadership-for instance, the reintroduction of conscription in the armed forces and the Anglo-German Naval Agreement, both of which occurred during our midshipman cruise and were positively commented upon by our superiors-rendered it difficult for us to shed our own national bias. We soon realized how restricted our contributions to rectify political imbalances had to remain. We therefore chose to make the best impression possible by appearing well-mannered and friendly. In addition we enjoyed the generosity of our hosts, sampled life under faraway skies, and kept on dreaming of our exotic adventures even when the hard work at sea called us back to life's realities.
Other Commands:
After attending the Marineschule Miirwik, Germany's Naval Academy, in 1935 and 1936, I was p
osted once again to the cruiser Karlsruhe, this time as aide-de-camp (ADC) and second torpedo officer. My new commanding officer was Captain Leopold Siemens, our executive officer Captain Hans-Georg von Friedeburg. The latter had just completed a stint as naval ADC to Reich Defense Minister Werner von Blomberg and thus enjoyed good connections to the leaders of the Wehrmacht as well as the Party.
One day the Minister paid us a visit. There were the usual ceremonies, and Friedeburg received Blomberg in a most cordial way. As ADC I was allowed to attend the subsequent dinner in the officers' wardroom, sitting at the far end of the table. Under the table electric buttons had been installed. It was my responsibility to signal to the band outside what kind of music would be appropriate at any given moment, such as light and entertaining tunes, marching music, or the national anthem. Blom berg and Friedeburg were engaged in very intense conversation. I could not hear what it was all about. Even our commanding officer was allowed to make only an occasional comment.
For a while the Karlsruhe functioned as a target vessel for our submarines. To observe and judge the progress of the boats properly, the commander-in-chief of Germany's U-boat forces, Captain Karl D6nitz, embarked on our vessel. I even had to vacate my cabin so he could use it instead. As a watch officer on the bridge I had many opportunities to talk to Donitz about U-boat technology and tactics. From my interest in the matter he could gather that I was eager, as were so many of my comrades, to serve on submarines.