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