It is difficult to express the high esteem I feel for the men of the dockyard at Kiel, or how much I owe to their co-operation. They were untiringly helpful in explaining and testing this wonderful product of their hands and brains, in all its peculiarities. On the very day of our departure the ingenious constructor of the "Deutschland," Over-Engineer Erbach, came out to our place of anchorage to make a last submerging test. And at last the day of our departure arrived. The "Deutschland" was loaded up. The valuable cargo lay well packed in its appointed place, the whole boat was once more overhauled and brought into careful trim. We laid in provisions for the long journey, and at the last moment even cigars and--gramophone records were brought on board. With these all our possible wants were securely provided for, and the "Deutschland" was ready for the voyage. We were ready, too. The farewells from all our dear ones at home lay, God be thanked, behind us; there is always a nasty moment in connection with a cruise into the Unknown, which it is best to get over quickly. The last to shake us by the hand were the men of the Germania dockyard. Then the gangway is pulled up, the crew take up their stations, and I climb into the conning-tower. The steam-tug lies beside us and takes over the hawsers. I call down to the engine-room, "Look out!" and raise my hand. The great moment has arrived. "Cast off the aft hawsers!" "They're off." "Tow away, 'Charlotte'!"[1] [1] "Charlotte" is presumably the name of the tug. The engine telegraph on the stout little steam-tug sounds: the sturdy craft strains at the tow-ropes, and slowly the stern of our "Deutschland" is drawn away from her resting-place in the dock. "Cast off the bow hawsers!" "They are off." And with a smack the last hawsers fall from the pier wall into the black, seething waters of the harbour. Now we are off. I take up the speaking-tube to the control-room: "Port engines half-speed astern!" "Starboard engines slowly forward!" "Rudder twenty starboard!" "Rudder lies twenty starboard." Thus the replies from the engine-room come back promptly. On the conning-tower where I stand next to the helmsman, in front of his little hand-wheel, one hardly feels the movement of the engines. Only from the churned-up water that seethes foaming and dirty against the rounded body of the "Deutschland," quickly dispersed to starboard, is it possible to realise that the engines are working. Slowly the big green whale's back twists and turns, lies first broadside on in the fairway, then slightly to port, then turns with the help of the tug once more to port and astern. "Stop both engines!"