As neither the chief-of-the-boat nor I had much to add to what had been said, we decided to go ahead with the up-ending of the boat without further delay. We all agreed to gamble our vital supply of fresh air and fresh water against the possible chance of getting the stern to the surface. If we failed in that, it probably only meant that the end would come sooner. We had hopes of outside help, but when we thought of the tragedy of other salvaging attempts, we knew how vain such hopes must be. “Good submariners may be down but never out. Now let’s hop to it,” said the Captain. And the struggle to beat a lingering and tortuous death was on! The pumps were put on all the tanks aft of the torpedo room, with the Exec in charge of operations. The Captain and I got out the ship’s blueprints. We had to know the exact distance from the bow to the point aft where we wanted to cut the hole in the hull. Next, we had to figure what the actual depth was, for although the depth-gauge showed one hundred thirty-two feet, that was merely the depth amidships. With the boat at an angle of thirty degrees by the bow, the real depth was greater. With the distance from the bow to the point on the stern where we were to drill the hull as the hypotenuse of a triangle, and with the computed depth as the second side of the triangle, we found that the ship had to be raised to an angle of at least seventy-seven degrees to get the stern above water. Now we knew exactly what we had to do! Could we do it? In the first place, was it possible to get the ship at that great an angle, and in the second place, would there be time? All hands were working feverishly. Men not used at the pumps and valves were put to work carrying loose articles from the after part of the ship to the forward part. We even planned to dismantle the engines, everything that could be loosened from the deck and hull—anything that would get heavy objects farther forward. As each agonizing hour went by, the angle-indicator showed an ever-increasing change, but such a heart-breakingly small change that we began to have our doubts as to whether we would make it or not. The electric pumps went out of commission shortly after we passed the sixty-degree mark. Then the electric lights went out, throwing the whole ship in absolute darkness. This meant that the batteries had gone dead, as we had greatly feared they would. Although we had several flashlights—one big one in each compartment and several smaller ones—the effect of the darkness on the morale was very soon felt. It was easy enough to keep up courage as long as we had plenty of light, but when that went, hope seemed to go with it.