He had hardly applied his eye to the lens when he sharply ordered the
boat to ten metres, accompanying this order with another to the motor
room demanding utmost speed (_Ausserste Kraft_). I went up to the
conning tower and found him white with excitement.

"Look!" he exclaimed, pointing to the periscope, entirely forgetful of
the fact that we were at ten metres. I looked, and of course saw
nothing; furious at the trick I considered he had played on me I turned
on him, to be disarmed by his apology.

"Sorry! I forgot! The whole British battle cruiser force is there."

It was now my turn to be excited, and I rushed down to the motor room
determined to give her every amp she would take. The port foremost
motor was sparking like the devil, rings of cursed sparks shooting
round the commutator, but this was no time for ceremony. I relentlessly
ordered the field current to be still further reduced.

We were actually running with an F.C. of 3.75 amps, [1] for a period,
when the sparking assumed the appearance of a ring of fire and, fearing
a commutator strip would melt, I ordered an F.C. of five amps.

[Footnote 1: The lower the field current the faster the motor goes.
3.75 is almost incredibly low for a motor of this type--at least
according to British practice.--ETIENNE.]

We thus passed a quarter of an hour full of strain, the tension of
which was reflected in the attitude of all the men. Alten had announced
his intention of using the stern torpedo tube after his failure in the
morning, and the crew of this tube were crouched at their stations like