While crossing the Atlantic we had avoided approaching steamers by slightly altering our course. We had even risked being noticed on one or two occasions, but during the last days of our voyage we submerged directly a cloud of smoke appeared on the horizon. On no account must we be observed when approaching the coast, as we had to reckon with the presence of enemy warships.

On the 8th July we guessed by the colour of the water that we could not be far from our goal.

In the course of the afternoon I conferred with my officers as to the navigation of Cape Henry, the southernmost of the two headlands which form the entrance to the roadstead of Hampton Road and Chesapeake Bay.

My idea was to await daybreak at about ten knots out from the American territorial waters in order to discover whether any enemy measures had been taken. If by any chance news of our voyage had leaked out, we should certainly have to reckon with such enemy influences.

Krapohl, on the other hand, was for getting in as near the coast as possible under cover of the night, and Eyring was of the same opinion. Both plans had their fors and againsts, and eventually I decided to continue our way carefully in the twilight, and wait to see what the weather conditions would be.

No sooner was our decision made than a stiff breeze from the south-west sprang up which cleared our range of vision considerably. At the same time, however, the boat started rolling in a very disagreeable manner, in the stiff, choppy sea that had risen with the breeze. We decided, therefore, to follow the direction of the lights on Cape Henry and Cape Charles through the night.

We proceeded on our course, till not long after a pale light flashed out suddenly on the horizon, then disappeared again.

This was the glow of the flashlights on Cape Henry—the first greeting from America.

Suddenly a white light shone out in the distance to starboard, disappeared, and then flared out again. It was immediately succeeded by a white light on our port side, which, however, continued to shine steadily.

We looked at each other.

What the blazes did this mean? It looked uncommonly like darkened warships making flashlight signals to each other. In any case, it meant a devilish sharp look-out on our part.

At half-speed, submerged up to the conning-tower, every man at his station, we crept nearer, maintaining the closest observation, our glasses boring their way through the darkness.

It was not long before we discovered that the steady light proceeded from a harmless outgoing steamer, which was already hurrying away at some distance behind us. Soon after we were able to make out from the place whence the flickering light had appeared, the outlines of the sail of a three-masted schooner, which like many coast steamers was travelling without side-lights, and only showing a white light at her stern from time to time. This was what we had taken for the signalling of warships.

Much relieved, I let the engines go full speed ahead, and soon we hove in full sight of the steady flare from Cape Henry, while the quivering lights of Cape Charles grew clearer and clearer on the horizon. Now we knew that we had steered correctly. The entrance between the two headlands lay before us.

The lights were now plainly visible. With an indescribable feeling in my heart I greeted the flare from Cape Charles, which shone out in the surrounding darkness a silent but sure sign that over yonder, after our long and dangerous journey, was firm land again, that over yonder lay our goal—mighty America.

We passed now by the various light buoys of the roadstead, and the familiar ringing of the siren buoy near by, which I had heard on former voyages, assured my ears as well as my eyes that we were near terra firma.

After we had passed the bell buoy we rose fully to the surface. The lights of several passenger steamers were visible, but they did not discover us as we were travelling with darkened lights. At last we reached the territorial waters off Cape Henry. This was on the 8th July at 11.30p.m.

Once inside the territorial waters we started our lights and proceeded steadily on our way through the roadstead between the capes, till we made out the red and white head-lights of a pilot steamer ahead of us.

We stopped and showed the customary blue light, whereupon the pilot steamer brought her searchlight to bear upon us, and not recognising the outlines of a steamer, approached cautiously.

She held us for some time under her searchlight, whose rays played continuously over the low deck and conning-tower of the "Deutschland." The unexpected appearance of our boat seemed so to have bewildered the gallant captain, that it was some time before he called out to us through the speaking trumpet: "Where are you bound for?"

On our replying "Newport News," he asked the name of our ship. We gave the name, but it was necessary to repeat it twice before he grasped the real nature of this strange visitor. Thereupon there must have been a great sensation on board the pilot steamer.

Then a boat approached us swiftly, and the pilot climbed up the rounded hull of the "Deutschland" on to her deck and greeted us with the following hearty words:

"I'll be damned; so here she is!"

Then he shook hands heartily with us again and expressed his pleasure at being the first American to welcome the "Deutschland" to the land of liberty.

I asked him immediately if he had had any idea that we were expected. To my surprise and delight, I learnt that for the last few days a tug had been awaiting our arrival between the capes.

We started off therefore with our trusty pilot in search of her.

In the meanwhile the incoming steamers had discovered the nature of this curious new arrival, and lit us up on all sides with their searchlights.

Thus our arrival in American waters was rather in the nature of a weird nocturne.

The search for our tug-boat was, however, by no means an easy matter in the darkness. We cruised around for some time till at last, after two hours, we found her.

It was the tug "Timmins," under the command of Captain Hinsch of the North German Lloyd.

Great was his delight, for the gallant captain, whose steamer, the "Neckar," had lain at Baltimore since the beginning of the war, had been waiting nearly ten days for us between the capes. Our long delay had filled him with distress as to our possible fate.

Now, however, he was delighted to see his long-expected protÉgÉ safe and sound before his eyes. He communicated to us thereupon the order to proceed to Baltimore instead of Newport News, where everything was already prepared for our arrival.

We parted therefore from our honest pilot, and travelled on, accompanied by the "Timmins," into Chesapeake Bay, after proudly hoisting the German flag which had not fluttered over these waters since the arrival of the "Eitel Friedrich" in front of Hampton Road. In this manner we entered the bay in the grey morning light. Our course became by degrees a triumphal procession. All the American and neutral steamers that met us greeted us with prolonged tootings from pipes and sirens. One English steamer only passed by us in poisonous silence, while our black, white and red flag fluttered proudly in the wind before her eyes.

Captain Hinsch, moreover, in his tug, took devilish care that the Englishman should not by chance run too close in by the rudder and ram us by mistake!

The gallant "Timmins" was useful to us in other ways. Our only means of responding to the greetings of the various steamers was by driving the siren by means of our precious compressed air. This would have gradually become an expensive game, and so the "Timmins" undertook to return thanks for us with her hoarse steam whistle.

The further we advanced into the bay the wilder grew the noise. We rejoiced from the depths of our hearts at these signs of sympathy with us and our cruise on the part of the Americans.

Towards four o'clock in the afternoon the "Timmins" was able to come up alongside and handed up to us—a block of ice! A couple of bottles of champagne were quickly cooled, and proudly we toasted the successful arrival of the "Deutschland" in America, our one regret in connection with this performance being that our faithful Hinsch only came in for the corks which flew on board the tug.

Only those who can realise what it means to have lived day after day in a temperature of 127½ degrees Fahrenheit will fully appreciate the joy of that first cool iced drink.

The news of our arrival must have spread with extraordinary rapidity, for to our no small surprise, hours before we reached Baltimore, boats came out to meet us with reporters and cinematograph operators on board.

Although it was growing dusk we were fairly bombarded, and we should probably have had to run the gauntlet of a still greater stream of questions and calls if the weather-god of Chesapeake Bay had not come hospitably to the rescue and ensured us a little breathing space. A heavy storm arose suddenly, and the stream of questions was quenched by a stream of rain which fell refreshingly down upon us sunburnt seafarers. Meanwhile through the fast approaching evening the "Deutschland," accompanied by the faithful "Timmins," travelled on once more silent and lonely towards her goal.

At 11p.m. we drew in to the Baltimore quarantine station, and for the first time our anchor struck American ground.

The "UDeutschland" had arrived.