ied, and went to my small cabin, where I
had not put foot since five o'clock in the morning.

I put my cap, long scarf and oil-skin jacket on a hook, stretched myself
in weary delight and washed myself energetically. This is a rare
pleasure on a trip like ours. From the nearby room the happy talk of the
officers reached my ears. I then heard a rattle of plates and forks, a
cork popped from a bottle, and Groening opened the little door that
separates my cabin from the room of the other officers.

"Herr Captain, dinner is ready," he said.

Soon we were sitting, four men in all, at a little, nicely decorated
table, cutting into the steaming platter and drinking out of small
seidels a magnificent sparkling wine. The past day's events had to be
moistened a little with the best we had. This was our custom when the
fortunes of war smiled graciously on us.

The electrical heating apparatus furnishes all the heat needed, but it
still has the disadvantage that in the still, unchanged air, the heat
arises so that the temperature at the floor is several degrees colder
than at the ceiling. Even in our heavy sea-boots, we felt it a little,
although, as a whole, we were warm and contented. The phonograph played
continuously. The petty officers had taken charge of it and played one
native song after another. What a thrill ran through me! At once there
was silence. All talk stopped. German songs of the Fatherland were sung
deep down at the bottom of the ocean right on England's coast. Inspired
by the music, our hearts were filled with enthusiasm and a silent
promise was made to give everything for the Fatherland--to become a
scourge to the enemy and damage him with all our might.

Thereafter, the dance music, operettas, vaudeville songs, and ragtime
were played. These stirred up a buoyant spirit. Especially there was
much joy among the firemen and sailors in the crew's quarters. Funny
songs could be heard from that direction. Dirty playing cards were dug
out and soon there was a real German skat game in full swing.

During this time we, in the officers' mess, raised our glasses and drank
toasts to one another and to the beautiful U-boat: "Rich spoils! A happy
journey home! Long live the U-boat!" That is the U-boat toast.

The boat was lying very still. It didn't seem to stir.

"What an original idea for an artist!" said our engineer, who was
poetically inclined, as he leaned back in his chair staring thoughtfully
at the ceiling.