‘Depth-gauge jammed, sir,’ reported the coxswain. ‘68 lb. pressure on the periscope gauge.’ Raymond frowned. His quick dive to avoid destruction, coupled with the sudden obscuring of the lights, had landed him in an awkward situation. The boat had struck bottom with her motors under weigh, and had stuck her nose in the mud with 150 feet of water above her. The external pressure was 68 lb. to the square inch, and three watchful Destroyers were up above. For a moment he thought they might have the grapnels on him, and a wild picture of having to come up and surrender flashed across his mind. But the men were watching him, and he knew what he ought to do. ‘Is the forward depth-gauge jammed?’ he called. ‘Yes, sir,’ answered Boyd. ‘Only goes to a hundred feet. It’s hard up.’ ‘Right. Blow the buoyancy.’ The small tank was blown out, and in so doing it was put to almost its tested strain (it was guaranteed to 75 lb.) without any result. Then came the order:-- ‘Group up. Astern both.’ ‘Grouped up, sir,’ from Furness, as he brought the switch over and started the motors. It was just like ordinary practice dives, and he watched his ammeters with as much detachment as if nothing out of the way had taken place. But nothing happened and the motors were stopped. ‘123’ was stuck hard and fast, and an uneasy feeling came over the captain. Seagrave was in the control room by now, and Boyd was making notes on the chart. Had they got the grapnels on him after all? No, of course not, they couldn’t have.... ‘Blow the auxiliary.’ The big tank was emptied, and the boat should have had about eight tons of buoyancy and risen like a cork. But still nothing happened, and the gauges remained jammed and the pressure was still 68 lb. to the square inch. Forward somebody coughed, and the T.I. could be heard getting two of the spare torpedoes ready to load into the empty tubes. ‘Group up. Astern both,’ came the order again. For a moment there was still no result. Then suddenly she shook herself clear from the jamb, and rushed up to surface like an empty bottle. The depth-gauge in the control room was out of action, but the forward one was working again, and Boyd sang out the readings as the boat rose. ‘Stop both,’ cried Raymond. ‘Ahead both. Hard a dive. Flood the auxiliary.’ ‘Gauge reading, sir,’ called Boyd, ‘100 feet, and coming up fast.’ ‘Hold her, coxswain,’ said Raymond. ‘Ninety feet, sir. Eighty feet, seventy, sixty,’ called Boyd. ‘Still rising fast, sir.’ ‘Can’t keep her down, sir,’ jerked the coxswain over his shoulder. ‘Damn!’ remarked Raymond. ‘She’s too light still. Flood the buoyancy.’ But the tank in question had just been blown at 68 lb. and had a big pressure in it. It filled but slowly, and Boyd’s voice continued monotonously from the fore compartment,-- ‘Forty feet, sir. Thirty feet. Still coming up. Twenty feet, rising fast. Ten feet. Surface.’