We have much improved the port since our arrival. The port, so-called,
is purely artificial, and actually consists of a long mole with a
gentle curve in it, which reaches out to seaward and protects the mouth
of the canal. The tides are very strong up and down the coast, and
constant dredging is carried out to keep 20 feet of water over the sill
at the lock gates.

On arrival last night we went straight into No. 11 shelter, as an
air-raid was expected, but nothing happened, so I went up to the
"Flandre," which seems to be the best hotel here, full of submarine
people, and I heard many interesting stories. There seems no doubt this
U-boat war is dangerous work; I find the U.C. boats are beginning to be
called the Suicide Club, after the famous English story of that name,
which, curiously enough, I saw on the kinematograph at Frankfurt last
leave. We Germans are extraordinarily broad-minded; I doubt if the
works of German authors are seen on the screens in England or France.

The news from the West is good, the English are hurling themselves to
destruction against our steel front. We are now to load up with mines.
I must stop writing to superintend this work.




_At sea. Near the South Dogger Light._


We loaded up the ten mines we carry in an hour and five minutes. They
were lifted from a railway truck by a big crane and delicately lowered
into the mine tubes, of which we have five in the bows.