“Then I must hurry up,” I replied, and went to my small cabin, where I had not put foot since five o’clock in the morning.
I put my cap, long scarf and oil-skin jacket on a hook, stretched myself in weary delight and washed myself energetically. This is a rare pleasure on a trip like ours. From the nearby room the happy talk of the officers reached my ears. I then heard a rattle of plates and forks, a cork popped from a bottle, and Gröning opened the little door that separates my cabin from the room of the other officers.
“Herr Captain, dinner is ready,” he said.
Soon we were sitting, four men in all, at a little, nicely decorated table, cutting into the steaming platter and drinking out of small seidels a magnificent sparkling wine. The past day’s events had to be moistened a little with the best we had. This was our custom when the fortunes of war smiled graciously on us.
The electrical heating apparatus furnishes all the heat needed, but it still has the disadvantage that in the still, unchanged air, the heat arises so that the temperature at the floor is several degrees colder than at the ceiling. Even in our heavy sea-boots, we felt it a little, although, as a whole, we were warm and contented. The phonograph played continuously. The petty officers had taken charge of it and played one native song after another. What a thrill ran through me! At once there was silence. All talk stopped. German songs of the Fatherland were sung deep down at the bottom of the ocean right on England’s coast. Inspired by the music, our hearts were filled with enthusiasm and a silent promise was made to give everything for the Fatherland—to become a scourge to the enemy and damage him with all our might.
Thereafter, the dance music, operettas, vaudeville songs, and ragtime were played. These stirred up a buoyant spirit. Especially there was much joy among the firemen and sailors in the crew’s quarters. Funny songs could be heard from that direction. Dirty playing cards were dug out and soon there was a real German skat game in full swing.
During this time we, in the officers’ mess, raised our glasses and drank toasts to one another and to the beautiful U-boat: “Rich spoils! A happy journey home! Long live the U-boat!” That is the U-boat toast.
The boat was lying very still. It didn’t seem to stir.
“What an original idea for an artist!” said our engineer, who was poetically inclined, as he leaned back in his chair staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. “One can imagine a cross section of the boat showing our room at the North Sea’s yellowish sand bottom, to which all kinds of crawling and swimming animals give life. In here four feasting, happy officers around a little table on which a warm electric light is shining with the wine bottle in the center and with the glasses raised to a solemn toast. Above—water, water, water—water to the height of a church steeple and, over it all, the glittering heavens full of stars and a small silver-white piece of the moon. If I were a painter I should immediately start with this motive for a picture.”
“And give me the picture, I hope,” I laughed. “And, after all, not such a bad idea about that picture—one should in reality propose such a motive to an artist.”