deep breath as soon as the first danger had passed.

“And to think that the fellow had to betray his presence by his chattering signals just as we were about to run right into his arms,” was the answer. “This time we can truly say that the good God, Himself, had charge of the rudder.”

The engineer appeared on the stairway which leads from the “Centrale” up to the conning tower.

“May I go to the engine-room, Herr Captain-Lieutenant?”

It was not permissible for him to leave his diving station, the “Centrale,” which is situated in the center of the boat, without special permission.

“Yes, Herr Engineer, go ahead down and fire up hard!” I replied.

The thumping of the heavy oil-motors became stronger, swelled higher and higher, and, at last, became a long drawn out roar, and entirely drowned the sound of the occasional jolts which always were distinctly discernible when going at slower speed. One truly felt how the boat exerted its strength to the utmost and did everything within its power.

We had put ourselves on another course which put the anxiously signaling Britishers obliquely aport of our stern, and rushed with the highest speed for about ten minutes until their lights became smaller and weaker. We then turned point by point into our former course, and thus slipped by in a large half circle around the hostile ships.

“Just as a cat around a bowl of hot oatmeal,” said Lieutenant Petersen.

“No, my dear friend,” I said laughingly, “it does not entirely coincide. The cat always comes back, but the oatmeal is too hot for us in this case. Or do you think that I intend to circle around those two rascals for hours?”

“Preferably not, Herr Captain-Lieutenant. It could end badly!”

“Both engines in highest speed forward, let the crew leave the diving stations, place the guards!” I ordered.

The danger had passed. Normal conditions at night could again be resumed. But before the morning set in, we again experienced all kinds of adventures. The night was as if bewitched. There was no sleep worth mentioning. I had hardly, towards ten o’clock, reached my comfortable little nest where the sailor Schultes, our own considerate “cup-bearer,” had spread on my miniature writing-desk the most tempting delicacies of preserves and fruit together with a bottle of claret, when a whistle sounded in the speaking-tube on the wall right close to my head:

“Whee-e!” it shrieked, high, penetrating and alarming.

I jumped up, pulled out the stopper and put in the mouth-piece.

“Hello!”

“Two points from starboard a white light!”

I grabbed my cap and gloves and rushed sternward through the deck officer’s room, petty officer’s room, and crew-room, each one narrower than the other.

“Look out, the commander!” they shouted to one another, and pulled in their legs so that I could get by.

“Ouch!” I bumped my head hard against the stand of an electric lamp. I rubbed the sore spot as I hurried ahead, while I took an oath to myself that the lamp should be moved at the first possible opportunity. I hurried through the “Centrale,” up the narrow stairway. Then I reached my place.

“Where?”

“There!” Lieutenant Gröning, who was on guard, pointed out. “About three points starboard!”

“It is a steamer. One can already see the red side lantern. It is crossing our course.”

I put my binoculars to the eye and looked for many seconds for the light. The officer on guard was right. Besides the white lantern, one could see a deep, red light. The ship therefore was traveling towards the left and would cross our course.

A narrow strip of the moon had appeared from out of the sea and was wrestling with the darkness of the night. The result was not much—the strip of the moon was too small for that—still it was not so dark as before.

“Don’t let it come too close to us!” I ordered. “And get clear in right time. We must not under any circumstances be seen by it, because then they would soon know in England from which direction to expect us. Now nearly every steamer has a wireless.”

Gröning changed the course to port until he had the steamer completely to the left.

“Too bad, we can’t take it with us,” he said.

“No, you know, for a night attack this is not the right place. Here so many neutral steamers travel, and an error can easily be made.”

It was shortly after ten o’clock. At eleven-twenty, twelve forty, one-ten, three-fifteen, and five o’clock I again heard the whistling “Whee-e!” in the speaking-tube by my bunk. Each time I had to jump out of some dream, realize within a fraction of a second that my presence was desired up-stairs, grab my cap and gloves, and rush through the boat’s long body up to the tower, not without several times bumping into the aforementioned and often damned electric lamp.

After five o’clock in the morning I remained on deck, because dawn would soon break with its treacherous light. The commander’s post is in the tower at such a time because, just as easily as one perceives in the pale gray light a ship, one is also visible from the steamer, which could cause many unpleasant surprises if the two ships are not very cordial towards each other—especially disagreeable to us because a submarine is, as our name indicates, below the water, and the smallest fragment of a shell can badly damage our heel of Achilles, the diving machinery, so that we would be unable again to get into a position of safety beneath the surface.

Shortly before six o’clock I had the entire crew at the diving stations. Each took his place, ready at a given command to open or shut the valve, crank, or bolt of which he had charge. Only the cook had no special duty besides his own. He remained with the electric cooking apparatus provided in the galley and had no other job besides taking care of our bodily comfort. Now he was, in conformity with his duty, busy making coffee as was proper at that time of day.

A fine, strong smell of coffee percolated through the whole ship, which proved to be a great stimulant to our taut nerves and our empty stomachs.

I have to deviate a little from the subject for the purpose of asking if my readers understand me. Is it above all plain, explicit, and clear why I give so much space to a discussion of the nerves when I speak about us, U-boat men, and so often refer to them? The nerves are in time of peace the Alpha and Omega for a U-boat officer. How much more so when we are at war! The nerves to us mean power to act, decision, strength, will, and perseverance. The nerves are valuable and to keep them in good condition is of the greatest importance and an obligation and duty during a voyage.

There we sit hour after hour in the conning tower. Beneath is the most complicated mechanism the genius of man has ever created. And all around there are the most craftily constructed instruments for the purpose of destroying that which cost so much labor to create. Mines, nets, explosives, shells, and sharp keels are our enemies, which, at any moment, may send us high in the air or hundreds of meters into the ocean. Everywhere perils lurk. The whole sea is a powder barrel.

For all this there is only one remedy—nerves!

To make the right decision at the right moment is the first and last of U-boat science. One glance must be enough to determine the position. In