Then the gangway is pulled up, the crew take up their stations, and I climb into the conning-tower.
The steam-tug lies beside us and takes over the hawsers. I call down to the engine-room, "Look out!" and raise my hand. The great moment has arrived.
"Cast off the aft hawsers!"
"They're off."
"Tow away, 'Charlotte'!" [1]
The engine telegraph on the stout little steam-tug sounds: the sturdy craft strains at the tow-ropes, and slowly the stern of our "Deutschland" is drawn away from her resting-place in the dock.
"Cast off the bow hawsers!"
"They are off."
And with a smack the last hawsers fall from the pier wall into the black, seething waters of the harbour.
Now we are off. I take up the speaking-tube to the control-room: