The German submarine officers and crews to be met with in Constantinople are not at all of the swaggering Prussian type. They wear the usual German uniform, whereas their fellows of the _Goeben_ and _Breslau_, which fly the Turkish flag, wear the fez. The so-called Turkish submarines do not exist save in the imagination of certain people whose interest it is to write about them. They are in reality German submarines flying the German naval flag. I have reason to believe also that there are very few Turkish aeroplanes or flying-men. An American newspaper suggested that it was possibly a Turkish submarine that sunk the _Persia_; but as there are no Turkish submarines, one of them could not possibly have been guilty of this crime against civilisation. These smaller submarines must not be confused with U51, which, as the German newspapers have proudly described, made the great voyage from Kiel to Constantinople, either through the English Channel or by the northern passage round Scotland. This took place in the spring of 1915. The U51 is a huge craft, painted a dark grey, its appearance being very suggestive of its sinister purpose. It has a big gun mounted on the forepart. The size of the craft astonished me when I saw it some days after its arrival at Constantinople, on my first visit, and I think it must be one of the largest afloat. Unfortunately, I was not allowed on board: there were limitations to the privileges that my papers were able to secure for me. Beside this leviathan the U4 and her sisters would look mere pigmies; but they are vicious little craft, hornets with sharp and painful stings. Now that Weddigen has been killed, Captain von Hersing is the popular hero of the German submarine navy. He is the type of man that possesses a strong appeal for the English sportsman. He is of the Max Horton order, and it was he who sank the _Triumph_ and the _Majestic_. In Germany heroes are made on the slightest possible provocation and for very indifferent achievements; but Captain von Hersing certainly deserves his fame. He is modest, a rather rare quality in the present-day German. The story of his feat, which he narrated to me during my first visit to Constantinople, has already been told time after time. As quietly as any Englishman would have done he described to me that wonderful voyage; how he picked up petrol in the Bay of Biscay at an exactly appointed time and place; how he passed by Gibraltar in broad daylight on the surface of the water; the agonies he suffered during the imprisonment of his boat for two hours in a British submarine net off Lemnos; how he eventually escaped with a damaged propeller, and arrived at Constantinople in the early days of May.