What a happy, unexplainable sensation to know that you are hiding deep
in the infinite ocean! The heart, which had stopped beating during
these long seconds because it had no time to beat, again begins its
pounding.
Our boat sinks deeper and deeper. It obeys, as does a faithful horse,
the slightest pressure of a rider's knees, which, in this case, are the
diving rudders placed in the bow and the stern. The manometer now shows
twenty-four meters, twenty-six meters. I had given orders we should go
down to thirty meters.
Above us we still hear the roaring and crackling in the water, as if it
were in an impotent rage. I turn and smile at the mate who is standing
with me in the conning tower--a happy, carefree smile. I point upwards
with my thumb.
"Do you hear it? Do you hear it?"
It is an unnecessary question, of course, because he hears it as
plainly as I do, and all the others aboard hear it, too. But the
question can still be explained because of the tremendous strain on our
nerves which has to express itself even in such a simple question.
Dear, true, splendid little boat, how one learns to love you during
such trying moments and would like to pet you like a living human
being for your understanding and obedience! We, here on board, all
depend upon you, just as we all depend upon one another. We are chained
together. We will face the dangers together and gain success.
You blond heroes who are standing down there in the bowels of the boat
without knowing what is happening up in the light, but still knowing
that the crucial moment has arrived--that life or death to every one
depends on one man's will and one man's decision; you who, with a calm
and strong feeling of duty, stick at your posts with all the strength
of your bodies and souls strained to the breaking point and still keep
full faith in him who is your leader, chief, and commander; you show
the highest degree of bravery and self-control, you who never have a
chance to see the enemy but still, with sustained calm, do your duty.
Not a word was uttered, not a sound disturbed that deadly stillness
on board. One almost forgot that the men were standing with strained
nerves at their posts in order to keep the wonderful mechanism running
right. One could hear the soft whirr of the dynamos and, more and more
distant, the crackling of the exploding shells. Suddenly even this
stopped. The Britisher must have noticed that the fish had slipped
out of his hand. Shortly thereafter we heard his propellers churning
the water above us. Soon this noise died away as it had come, growing
fainter and fainter in a kind of grinding whirr.
"Did you hear how he circled around over us?" I asked through the
speaking tube which led down into the "Centrale."
"Certainly. That could clearly be distinguished," was the short answer.
I was pondering over what to do next. At first we had no choice but to
dive at the first sight of the destroyer suddenly appearing with the
break of day.