We had had more than enough of the North Sea by this time, and were now quite ready to get out into the open.

We were quite clear as to our route, thank goodness. Less so as to what might happen to us on the voyage; but we were prepared by now for any little surprises that might occur. For why travel in a submarine if there are no difficulties to be overcome? After all, many U-Boats had passed successfully through the North Sea and reached the open ocean. Moreover, they had had many dangerous duties to carry out, while we had only to take care not to be seen, and to slip out as quietly as possible.

As a matter of fact, it was not only that we had not to be seen. Our chief care was that we should not be recognised as a U-Boat trader.

The peculiar character of the "Deutschland" as a peaceful unarmed merchant trader would not have protected us in the least from being sunk at sight. Of that we were convinced, and how right we were was seen in the later English and French official declarations. If we were once recognised as a U-Boat trader, we should have been not only in danger every minute, but our unhampered arrival at the American port of our destination would be highly endangered. We should have had a whole pack of thirsty bloodhounds in our wake. We hoped therefore to take the whole world by surprise by our arrival in America, and all our ambitions were strained towards this achievement.

Thus I meditated as we neared the danger zone.

We moved forward therefore with great caution. We saw a great deal in the process, were seen ourselves extremely seldom; recognised never. During the day we avoided several steamers by altering our course. At night we travelled with darkened lights, submerging when necessary.

The weather also favoured us. Once we sighted an English auxiliary cruiser some distance off; she was travelling in a definite direction with a zigzag course. For some time we held a parallel course with her, keeping her carefully under observation. But owing to the high seas, which must have made her navigation far from pleasant, we remained unnoticed.

On another occasion a look-out vessel approached us in the evening twilight; she had seen us and hailed us with the English merchant flag to signify harmlessness and thus mislead us for an attack.

As we continued calmly on our way she moved off in vexation. The sea was probably too rough for her to seek further communication with us. We were easily able to avoid other look-out vessels, travelling at an even higher rate.

Later on it grew calm—and misty. We submerged and came to rest on the bottom. We were in no hurry, and why should we not take a little rest?

It was not what might be called exactly shallow in that spot; it was, in fact, extremely deep. All the more calm and safe a resting-place. For what else were our excellent deep-sea lead machine, and the wonderfully stout body of our "Deutschland"?

That night on the bed of the ocean at X—— was a great relaxation for us all. We were able once more to have a good wash and rest without fear of being immediately awakened by a "Hullo" from the speaking-tube.

But first of all we dined—a real, proper dinner. The two gramophones played gaily, and we clinked our glasses together, which were filled—possibly out of compliment—with French champagne.

Our faithful Stucke—steward, second cook, and servant to us all—waited on us with earnest solemnity, just as if he were still steward in the dining-room of the "Kronprinzessin CÄcilie." It was impossible to imagine that he had been a prisoner in France for nearly a year. It was as if he had always haunted the "Deutschland" at a depth of ten fathoms below the sea, where in our comfortable mess-room he was continually developing fresh arts and contrivances, and had stored away in the miniature pantry and a couple of drawers an undreamed-of amount of table linen and plate.

Next morning we go up to the surface again. The pump rattles and growls and we climb with several hundred gallons over normal weight, and with the diving rudders in perfect working order, to the surface.

At about eleven fathoms the boat begins to lose her beautiful steadiness. This is first noticeable on the gauge, afterwards by the diving rudders which are harder to manipulate and on which the boat often presses heavily. The higher we rise the more powerful these movements become, so there must be a pretty rough sea up above.

We rise now carefully up to periscope depth, travel thus for a while and look around. Except for a wide sweep of foaming waves nothing is to be seen. The weather suits me exactly, for we can diminish our watchfulness accordingly.

I now decide to rise entirely to the surface, and fill one of the tanks with compressed air till the conning-tower is sufficiently free. The oil engines are started, and the ventilation machine makes ready to take in a fresh supply of air. Hardly have we opened the hatch of the conning-tower, however, when a rough, watery greeting flies down into the control-room. We are not quite ready apparently. Another tank is blown out and the turbo-fan set in motion till the tanks are soon quite empty.

But first another little trick of seamanship has to be brought into play.

In order to rise still higher we have to get her broadside on again, for in this wild sea the long, heavy body of the boat will not rise easily out of the water head on.

Moving slowly we turn the "Deutschland" broadside on to the sea. She rolls horribly, nearly shaking the soul out of your body. Added to this, the heavy cross-seas are sweeping continuously over the boat. But she obeys the diving rudders and slowly raises her nose out of the water. As we rise entirely to the surface the conning-tower and periscope sway alarmingly in the air.

Now comes another unpleasant moment. It is necessary to bring the boat at slow speed again on to her proper course.

Sheltering behind the thick windows of the conning-tower, on which the spray streams down incessantly, with arms and legs wedged firmly against the sides, I peer around.

From old experience of the sea, I am waiting for three particularly heavy waves to pass over, which are usually followed by a low irregular one. Now the third big wave has passed. There is a call to the helmsman in the control-room; it works. The bow bores her way slowly round, and we are back on our old course again without meeting any particularly heavy breakers.

It is still a pretty tough job all the same. The storm, if anything, increases, and our journey proceeds but slowly against the heavy sea. Added to this, part of the crew are seasick; and the short, backward pitches of the boat are horrible. But as we proceed, the long steady swell of the Atlantic Ocean becomes more marked. The short, pitching movements gradually cease and change into a majestic swaying.

In the distance we see two English cruisers returning from their nightly reconnoitre. We lie too low for them to notice us, and they disappear rapidly in the opposite direction.

Now we are free from the English outpost boats, and steer cheerfully out into the wide open spaces of the Atlantic.