The one way of getting to the surface was through the conning tower. But the terrific weight of the water above closed the lid so tightly that the strongest giant in the world could never lift it. To raise it were beyond the strength of mere human beings. The only way of accomplishing the feat was to let into the conning tower compressed air until the pressure of the air equalled the pressure of the sea, and as the air burst a way upwards the gallant officers hoped to be carried with it to the surface. Quietly they entered the conning tower, and partially flooded it. The compressed air was turned on. Minute by minute the pressure increased, minute by minute the officers waited, wondering if death or life was to be theirs, whether their attempt was to succeed or fail. So great grew the pressure that the air could no longer be kept within bounds. With incredible strength it burst upwards and Commander Goodhart was dashed violently against the steel sides of the conning tower and killed instantly. By the greatest good fortune Commander Herbert missed the full force of that deadly upthrust of air. Still he, too, was hurled upwards and, as the water rushed in and the air gushed out, was carried clean through the conning tower to the surface. Already the disappearance of K.13 was arousing anxiety up above, and a salvage craft had been called to the spot. A couple of men in a boat, noticing the figure of Commander Herbert as he came up in the Gareloch, pulled quickly towards him and dragged him over the side. He was almost dead with exhaustion, and the wonder is that he ever survived that terrible ordeal. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered, he gave an account of what had happened and told how the men were trapped in the submarine. The urgency of the case was obvious. It needed no stressing. Then began one of the most thrilling salvage fights in the history of the human race. It was a fight, not for treasure, but for human life. It was a race against time, a long tussle with death. Divers dropped down the shot-ropes to the bed of the Gareloch and began to search for the sunken submarine. The light was none too good, owing to the water being fogged with mud, but they were searching only a short time when the dark hull of the submarine loomed in front of them. They hurried up to it. One drew an axe from his belt, hammered hard at the side. Answering knocks came from within, and those waiting anxiously on the surface heaved a sigh of relief as the divers telephoned up: “We’ve found her. They’re still alive!” Surveying the wreck, the divers discovered that the bow of the submarine was about 20 feet higher than the stern, which was already covered by a dozen feet of mud. Wading in slime sometimes up to the armpits, the divers worked their way round her, then quickly sped to the surface and reported her position.