It is a strange sight, rather like a swarm of bees, this cluster of men in rough, heavy sea clothes. There is not much etiquette observed here; I know the men have no easy job down below there, and when one of them sticks his head through the tower hatch to draw a few puffs at his pipe, I gladly grant him the short respite.

Moreover, all eyes are fixed unconsciously on the horizon, and this is a good thing. The more men there are to watch, the more can be observed, and many of our crew have the eyes of an eagle.

Suddenly in the clear twilight of the June evening two masts appear in the distance on the port side; a funnel follows, and soon the hull of a steamer appears on the verge of the horizon.

With the help of our excellent prismatic glasses we hold her steadily under observation, our object being to make out her course in order to steer clear of her.

We have soon measured her distance, and I take up the map, compare, reckon, look at the vessel again, then pause bewildered.

From the course she is following the steamer will never reach a port.

Is it possible then?

I call up Krapohl and point out to him my calculations. We have another good look through the glasses, compare maps; they agree.

The fellow is following no route whatever.

In the meanwhile we had approached near enough to make the steamer out distinctly. The twilight of the June evening is so clear and bright that we can observe her with the greatest accuracy. She is a fine steamer of medium size, and carries a neutral flag, while her hull is painted in the colours of her country.

In the middle of the hull is a long double name which we cannot, however, read.

Suddenly Krapohl cries:

"Good heavens! how is it that she is flying her flag so long after sunset? Is it mere chance, I wonder? And what does that extraordinary coat of paint on her hull signify? She is a suspicious looking craft."

I am forced to agree with him.

The apparently aimless course of the steamer fills me with amazement. It is not usual to take a sea-trip on the North Sea for amusement in the middle of this world-war!

We consider what is to be done. As yet the steamer has not sighted us; she continues her mysterious course, and by this time lies a little astern of us.

I decide nevertheless not to submerge, as our courses must soon diverge.

Suddenly the steamer makes a rapid turn and comes straight towards us. Now we can see that the sturdy neutral has swung out her boats; obviously with intent to make more complete her character of a peaceful merchantman, is ready and prepared to follow all commands.

This remarkable civility on her part is quite sufficient for us. I send all the crew below deck and give the alarm at once.

We make ready to submerge, and in doing so move towards the steamer in order to lie broadside on to the sea, which makes diving easier.

Then, to our great amazement, the following incident occurs. Hardly has the "neutral" ship observed our movements and noticed that we are submerging, than she twists round with a jerk.

As we submerge we can still watch her as she wends her characteristic zigzag course, puffing out thick clouds of smoke behind her.

This confession of a bad conscience struck us profoundly. Never have we laughed so heartily as over the flight of this honest merchantman with her unknown course.

The artful dodger thought she was found out, and feared any moment we might send a torpedo into her ribs.

And how furious she must have been! It would have been so fine to approach quite near to the "pest" in the character of neutral ship, and then at a safe distance to let the mask of "harmlessness" drop, and shoot through the port-holes.

The trap was so beautifully laid. The German "pirate" had only to go just a little nearer. Instead we described a curve under water, and only rose to the surface again two hours later.

First I searched the horizon with the aid of the periscope. Then I opened the hatch of the conning-tower, which was still half submerged, in order to get a look round with the glasses. The air was clear. In the south the moon had risen, making the dusky light of the summer night even more transparent. But as far as the eye could see the sea was empty, no steamer was in sight.

The "Deutschland" could continue her way unlighted, and besides our huge delight over the disappointment of the crafty trap-layer, I had now the certainty that we could see all vessels before they could see us.

And that was no small matter.

CHAPTER V
A SOMERSAULT IN THE NORTH SEA

That night, during the darkest hours between eleven and one o'clock, I had decided to travel submerged with the electric engines.

When we submerged in the twilight of the long summer night there had been very little wind, but there was a heavy swell—a sure sign that the wind would rise to a storm within a few hours. Towards two o'clock I gave the order to rise to the surface, and soon noticed from the increasingly wild movements of the boat that the storm had arisen, and that a rougher sea must have set in with it.

At times we made regular springs, but continued steadily blowing out from our tanks and came to the surface in good order.

From the lower end of the periscope I tried to get my bearings. It was, however, almost impossible to see anything, as the periscope was continually enveloped by the heavy breakers, the dim light causing the huge waves to assume monstrous and uncanny proportions.

Now we had risen entirely to the surface, and I climbed into the conning-tower to get a proper outlook over the wildly dancing sea. It had become pleasant weather indeed! In the pale dim light was visible a seething witch's cauldron of tossing, mountainous waves crowned with foam, from which the wind tore away the spray and hurtled it through the air. The boat struggled heavily against it and made little headway. The entire deck was, of course, flooded, and every moment the sea dashed up over the conning-tower and fell over me in showers of spray. I clung on to the parapet of the "bath-tank" and scanned the horizon—a strange outlook, one continually shifting scene of mountainous rollers.

I was just about to give the order to start the oil engines working when—what is that over there?

That dark streak yonder—surely it is a line of smoke?...

Then the back of a wave blots it out for a moment from the pale grey sky....

I wait, staring through the glass till my eyes ache....

There it is again, a dark line of smoke ... and there, there: a masthead, thin as a needle, yet I can see it through my glasses; and now ... my eyes are boring their way through the glasses ... that black thing over there just visible in the valley of the waves ... the smoke above it, four low funnels....

Good heavens! it is a destroyer!...

With one bound I spring into the conning-tower, close the hatch:

"Alarm!"

"Submerge quickly!"...

"Flood the tanks!"

"Diving rudder; eleven fathoms down."

The commands follow each other in rapid succession. But to carry them out is a different matter!

To submerge head on to this sea will be from all experience sheer madness....

But what am I to do?

The destroyer may have seen us already....

Down we must go, and as quickly as possible.

Below me, in the control-room, the crew are working in speechless haste. The emergency air valves are opened, the compressed air hisses out of the tanks—the submersion valves sing in all