We had been drifting about for three days without knowing our location. No wonder we greeted our guide with great joy, and quickly produced the sextant to find out where we were. Our calculations showed that, during the entire time, we had been circling around in one spot and had not gotten one mile nearer our port. But what did that matter? The storm was abating, the sea was calming down, and our splendid, faithful boat had stood the test once more, and, in spite of all storms, had survived. We reached the North Sea the next afternoon and could change our course to the south with happy hearts. Every meter, every mile, every hour brought us nearer home. No one who has not, himself, experienced this home-coming can understand the joy that fills a U-boat sailor’s heart when, after a successful voyage, he sees the coast of his fatherland; or when he turns the leaves of his log and, astonished, reads the scrawled lines which tell fairy tales of the dangers and joys and asks himself: “Have you really gone through all that?” Who can understand the joy of a commander’s heart when, sitting by his narrow writing table, he is carefully working out his report to his superiors? “Have sunk X steamers—X sailing ships.” All around me were the happy faces of the crew. All were satisfied, every danger past and forgotten, thanks to the strength of youth and their stout hearts. _April 30—Nine-thirty A. M._ The lead was thrown. Now the water became shallow, for we are going into the bay—the German bay. “It’s twenty-four meters deep,” reported Lohmann, who in his feverish desire to get ashore had been up on the conning tower since four o’clock, although he should really have been off watch at eight. He wanted to be the first one to sight land, because he is proud of his fine eyesight and was as happy as a child when he discovered something before his commander did. “The lead shows twenty-four!” “See if it agrees with the chart,” I called to the mate who sat in the conning tower with the chart on his knee. “It agrees exactly,” the mate called back, after he had compared the measurement by the lead with the depth that was marked on the chart where we estimated we were. “How far is it to land?” “Eight and a half miles.” In five more minutes, the German islands of the North Sea arose before our eyes. Now we were unable to restrain ourselves further. We tore off our caps and waved them exultantly, greeting our home soil with a roaring hurrah. Our cheer penetrated into the boat, from stern to prow, and even set Schweckerle’s heart on fire, where he was sitting alone and idle amongst the torpedo cradles. Shortly thereafter we glided into the mouth of the river with the pennant bearing our name proudly fluttering from the masthead. This told all the ships that met us: “Here comes U-boat 202!”