When I went back some one said: “To-morrow it will be in the papers.” These words whirled around in my head for some time. Yes, to-morrow there would be in all the German newspapers under the column: “Ships sunk” or “Sacrifices to the U-boat war,” that once more we had retaliated on our most hated enemy, that his inhuman attempt to starve our people had been parried by a horrid and strong blow. And over there upon his isle our relentless enemy would receive the same kind of a newspaper notice. The only difference was that there it would cause fury instead of joy, and the dried-up old English editor would stare terrified on the telegram which he would hold in his hand, pull off his few white threads of hair, and swear as only an Englishman can swear. Even up to the dusk of the night, we towed the sunken freighter’s three boats towards the coast. We then cut loose in order to get ready to manœuver. When darkness set in, one had to be ready for surprises. Besides, we were not very far from land and the weather was fair, so that the boats could be in no danger. As a refreshment, I had three bottles of wine brought over to the captain of the ill-fated ship, and left him with best greetings to Mr. Churchill and his colleagues. The last streak of day became paler and paler in the west. The spook-like red cloud-riders stretched themselves more and more, became indistinct, pulled themselves asunder, and at once were swept away. In their place appeared the dark demon of the night, spread itself over heaven, hid all the stars, and settled heavily over the sea. This was just a night suitable for us. One could not see one’s hand before the eye. The steel covers on the tower windows were tightly shut, so that the least ray of light could not escape. Entirely invisible we were gliding forward in the dark. Dumb and immovable, each one was sitting at his post—the lieutenant, the subordinate officer, and the commander—trying with our eyes to pierce through the darkness and turning our heads continually from right to left and back again. The aim of our voyage was still far off and the fine weather had to be used. Weakly, as if from a far distance, the phonograph’s song reached us lonely watchmen: “Reach me thy hand, thy dear hand; Live well, my treasure, live well! ’Cause we travel now to Eng-eland, Live well, my treasure, live well, ’Cause we travel now to Eng-eland.” II AN EVENTFUL NIGHT What peculiar sensations filled me. We were at war—the most insane war ever fought! And now I am a commander on a U-boat! I said to myself: