The Diary of a U-boat Commander | Page 2

as
if I had stumbled accidentally into some private recess of his mind. I
closed the cabin door, for I heard the voices of my crew approaching.
He wept for some time, perhaps ten minutes, and I wished very much
to know of what he was thinking, but I couldn't imagine how it would
be possible to find out.
I think that my behaviour in connection with his friend's diary added
the last necessary drop of water to the floods of emotion which he had
striven, and striven successfully, to hold in check during the agony of
handing over the boat, and now the dam had crumbled and broken
away.
It struck me that, down in the brilliantly-lit, stuffy little cabin, the result
of the war was epitomized. On the table were some instruments I had
forbidden him to remove, but which my first lieutenant had discovered
in the engineer officer's bag.
On the settee lay a cheap, imitation leather suit-case, containing his
spare clothes and a few books. At the table sat Germany in defeat,
weeping, but not the tears of repentance, rather the tears of bitter regret
for humiliations undergone and ambitions unrealized.
We did not speak again, for I heard the launch come alongside, and, as
she bumped against the U-boat, the noise echoed through the hull into
the cabin, and aroused him from his sorrows. He wiped his eyes, and,
with an attempt at his former hardiness, he followed me on deck and

boarded the motor launch.
Next day I visited U.122, and these papers are presented to the public,
with such additional remarks as seemed desirable; for some curious
reason the author seems to have omitted nearly all dates. This may have
been due to the fear that the book, if captured, would be of great value
to the British Intelligence Department if the entries were dated. The
papers are in the form of two volumes in black leather binding, with a
long letter inside the cover of the second volume.
Internal evidence has permitted me to add the dates as regards the
years. My thanks are due to K. for assistance in translation.
ETIENNE.
* * * * *
The Diary of a U-boat Commander

One volume of my war-journal completed, and I must confess it is dull
reading.
I could not help smiling as I read my enthusiastic remarks at the
outbreak of war, when we visualized battles by the week. What a
contrast between our expectations and the actual facts.
Months of monotony, and I haven't even seen an Englishman yet.
Our battle cruisers have had a little amusement with the coast raids at
Scarborough and elsewhere, but we battle-fleet fellows have seen
nothing, and done nothing.
So I have decided to volunteer for the U-boat service, and my name
went in last week, though I am told it may be months before I am taken,
as there are about 250 lieutenants already on the waiting list.
But sooner or later I suppose something will come of it.

I shall have no cause to complain of inactivity in that Service, if I get
there.
* * * * *
I am off to-night for a six-days trip, two days of which are to be spent
in the train, to the Verdun sector.
It has been a great piece of luck. The trip had been arranged by the
Military and Naval Inter-communication Department; and two officers
from this squadron were to go.
There were 130 candidates, so we drew lots; as usual I was lucky and
drew one of the two chances.
It should be intensely interesting.
* * * * *
At ----
I arrived here last night after a slow and tiresome journey, which was
somewhat alleviated by an excellent bottle of French wine which I
purchased whilst in the Champagne district.
Long before we reached the vicinity of Verdun it was obvious to the
most casual observer that we were heading for a centre of unusual
activity.
Hospital trains travelling north-east and east were numerous, and twice
our train, which was one of the ordinary military trains, was shunted on
to a siding to allow troop trains to rumble past.
As we approached Verdun the noise of artillery, which I had heard
distantly once or twice during the day, as the casual railway train
approached the front, became more intense and grew from a low
murmur into a steady noise of a kind of growling description,
punctuated at irregular intervals by very deep booms as some especially
heavy piece was discharged, or an ammunition dump went up.

The country here is very different from the mud flats of Flanders, as it
is hilly and well wooded. The Meuse, in the course of centuries, has cut
its way through the rampart of hills