“Then we tried to close the sluice-valve by hand, but it was too late, for the afterpart was full of water, and the boat sank at an angle of about twenty-five degrees. The boat came to rest at an incline of about twelve degrees, pointing towards the stern. The switchboard being under water the electric lights went out. Offensive gas developed and breathing became difficult. The boat sank about 10 A.M. on the 15th, and though suffering at the time from this offensive gas, we endeavored to expel the water by hand pumps. As the vessel went down we expelled the water from the main tank. As the light has gone out the gage cannot be seen, but we know the water has been expelled from the main tank. “We cannot use the electric current at all. The battery is leaking but no salt water has reached it and chlorin gas has not developed. We only rely on the hand pump now. “The above was written under the light of the conning-tower, at about 11.45 o’clock. We are now soaked by the water that has made its way in. Our clothes are wet and we feel cold. I had been accustomed to warn my shipmates that their behavior (in an emergency) should be calm and deliberate, as well as brave, yet not too deliberate, lest work be retarded. People may be tempted to ridicule this after this failure, but I am perfectly confident that my words have not been mistaken. “The depth gage of the conning-tower indicates 52 feet, and despite our efforts to expel the water the pump stopped and would not work after 12 o’clock. The depth in this neighborhood being ten fathoms, the reading may be correct. “The officers and men of submarines should be chosen from the bravest of the brave or there will be annoyances in cases like this. Happily all the members of this crew have discharged their duties well and I am satisfied. I have always expected death whenever I left my home, and therefore my will is already in the drawer at Karasaki. (This remark applies only to my private affairs and is really superfluous. Messrs. Taguchi and Asami will please inform my father of this.) “I respectfully request that none of the families left by my subordinates suffer. The only thing I am anxious about is this. “Atmospheric pressure is increasing and I feel as if my tympanum were breaking. “12.30 o’clock. Respiration is extraordinarily difficult. I mean I am breathing gasoline. I am intoxicated with gasoline. “It is 12.40 o’clock.” Those were the last words written by Lieutenant Takuma Faotomu, bravest of the brave.