We were rather surprised to meet one of these despicable little
sausages or "Zeppelin's Spawn," as the navigator calls them, so far
from land, and at dark we surfaced and proceeded on one engine on an
easterly course, charging the battery right up with the other engine.

Dawn revealed a blank horizon, not a vestige of mast, funnel or smoke
in sight.

We ambled along in fine though cold weather, and I took advantage of
the peacefulness of everything to do a really good series of Mueller on
the upper deck, stripped to the waist, and allowed the keen air to play
its invigorating currents on my torso.

Alten silently watched me from the conning tower, with a sneering
expression on his face. The navigator, who is quite a decent youngster,
though of no family, was, I could plainly see, struck by my
development, and asked to be initiated into the series of exercises. I
agreed willingly enough to show them to him. I will confess I wish Zoe
could have seen me as I perspired with healthy exercise.

At about 11 a.m. a couple of masts, then two more, then another,
appeared above the horizon. The visibility was extreme, so we at once
dived and proceeded at full speed, ten metres.

We had been going thus for perhaps half an hour when Alten remarked
that he would have another look at the convoy. We eased speed, came up
to six metres, and Alten proceeded up into the conning tower to use "A"
periscope.