He said: "Well, the Captain came up just now, swearing like a trooper,
and told me to get to the devil out of it; it didn't seem advisable to
question him, so I got out of it and came down."
I expressed my opinion that the Captain must be feeling sea-sick and
was ashamed to say so. I also suggested to the navigator that he should
take the Captain a little brandy in case he was not feeling well, but
the navigator declared he was going to stay down in the warmth till he
was sent for. Alten is a great coarse brute. Fancy allowing a material
substance such as alcohol to grip one's mentality.
Thank Heaven I have nerves of iron; nothing would affect me!
And now to bed, though I must just read my account of our day in the
forest. Darling girl, may I dream of thee.
* * * * *
We laid our mines without trouble at 5 a.m. this morning, though at
midnight we had a most unpleasant experience.
I was asleep, as it was my morning watch, when I was awakened by the
harsh rattle of the diving alarms.
The Diesel subsided with a few spasmodic coughs into silence, and as I
jumped out of my bunk and groped for my short sea boots, the navigator
and helmsman came tumbling down the conning tower, with the navigator
shouting, "Take her down," as hard as you like.
The men at the planes had them "hard-to-dive" in an instant.
The vents had been opened as the hooters sounded, and Alten, who had
jumped into the control room, immediately rang down, "All out on the
electric motors."
In thirty seconds from the original alarm we were at an angle of twenty
degrees down by the bow, and I had sat down heavily on the battery
boards, completely surprised by the sudden tilt of the deck.
It occurred to me that the air was escaping through the vents with a
strangely loud noise, but before I could consider the matter further or
even inquire the reason for this sudden dive, the noise increased to a
terrifying extent, and whilst I prepared myself for the worst it
culminated into a roar as of fifty express trains going through a
tunnel, mingled with the noise of a high-powered aeroplane engine.
The roar drummed and beat and shook the boat, then died away as
suddenly as it came; a moment later there was a severe jar. We had
struck the bottom, still maintaining our angle.
I painfully got to my feet and then discovered from the navigator that
he had suddenly seen two white patches of foam 800 yards on the
starboard bow, which resolved themselves into the bow waves of a
destroyer approaching at full speed to ram.
We had dived just in time, and her knife-edged bow, driven by 30,000
horse power, had slid through the water a very few feet above our
conning tower.
Luckily he had not dropped any depth charges. We were not, however,
completely free of our troubles, though we had cheated the destroyer.
Examination of the chart, showed the bottom to be mud, and on
attempting to move the foremost hydroplanes, the plane motor fuses blew
out. This showed that the boat was buried in the mud right up to her
foremost planes, which were immovable.
The hydrophone watchkeeper reported that he could still hear
fast-running propellers, though probably some distance away, and as
this showed that our old enemy was still nosing about we were very
anxious not to break surface. We just blew "A." [1] At least we started
to blow "A," but Alten wisely decided that, as it was a calm night with
a half-moon, the bubbles on the surface might be rather conspicuous, so
we stopped the blow and put the pump on. We also flooded "W". [2] This
had no effect on her at all.
[Footnote 1: Probably their foremost internal tank.--ETIENNE.]
[Footnote 2: Presumably their after internal tank.--ETIENNE.]
We then pumped out "Q" and "P," leaving "W" full, and adjusted our trim
to give her only three tons negative buoyancy, just enough to keep us
on the bottom if she came out of the mud.
In this position we went full speed astern on the motors, 1,500 amps on
each, and all the crew in the after-compartment. No result. We then
pumped the outer diving tanks on the port side to give her a list to
starboard. Still she remained fixed.
So at 2 a.m. we decided to risk it and we put a slow blow on all tanks.
When she had about fifty tons positive buoyancy she suddenly bucketed
up, and, as the motors were running full speed astern at the time, we
came up and broke surface stern first. In a few seconds we were trimmed
down again, and as a precautionary measure we proceeded for a couple of
miles at twenty metres, when, coming up to periscope depth, we
surfaced, and finding all clear we proceeded. We were put down by a
trawler at dawn, though she never saw us. After half an hour's hanging
about she moved off, which was lucky, as she was right on our billet.
We are now proceeding to a spot somewhat to the eastward of Cape St.
Abbs, [3] as we have instructions to do a two-days patrol here and sink
shipping.
[Footnote 3: St. Abbs Head.--ETIENNE]
We ought to start business to-morrow morning.
* * * * *
We should be in to-night, then for my little Zoe!
But I must record what we have done. Already I am getting much pleasure
from reading my diary. Strange how it amuses one to see little bits of
oneself on paper, and the less garnished and franker the truths the
more entertaining it is.
[Illustration: "The torpedo had jumped clean out of the water a hundred
yards short of the steamer and had then dived under her."]
[Illustration: "We were put down by a trawler at dawn."]
[Illustration: A moment later there was a severe jar; we had struck
the bottom]
The hours here are so long and boring at times that I feel I want to
talk intimately with someone. Failing Zoe I turn to my notebooks.
The first steamer we sighted raised high hopes, at least her smoke did,
for we saw enough smoke on the horizon to make us think we were to see
the Grand Fleet, and we promptly dived. We cruised towards her for
about half an hour, and then hung about where we were, as we found that
her course would take the ship close to us.
As the situation developed, Alten, who was up in the conning tower at
the "A" periscope, gave us a certain amount of information, and we
gathered that all this smoke was pouring out of the pipe-stem tunnel of
a wretched little English tramp.
I found it most irritating, standing in the control room (my action
station) and not knowing what was going on.
There is only one good job in a submarine and that is the Captain's. He
knows and decides everything. The rest of us are in his hands and take
things on trust. I object on principle to my life being held in Alten's
hands. It is all very well for the crew, for, to start with, they have
no imagination, and to most of them their mental horizon stops at the
walls of the boat. Secondly, they have the consolation of mechanical
activities; they make and break switches and open and close
valves--they work with their hands. An officer has imagination, and
only works with his head.
As we attacked the steamer, all one heard was murmurs from Alten, such
as: "Raise!" "Lower!" "Take her down to ten metres!" "Half speed!"
"Slow!" "Bring her up to five metres!" "Raise!" "Lower!"
I endeavoured to simulate an air of unconcern which I was far from
feeling.
Not that I was a prey to physical fear; I flatter myself it is so far
unknown to me, and there was no great danger, but simply that I longed
to know what was happening. At length I heard the welcome order:
"Starboard tube. Stand by!"