The kapitan of U 247 remained on deck, half-buried in his greatcoat. He was both irritable and impatient—impatient for the return of the boat, irritable since he wanted to smoke and durst not. Another U-boat commander had smoked on deck while his boat was recharging batteries at night. The fumes of the cigar, drifting far and wide, assailed the keen nostrils of a submarine hunter. As it was, the U-boat got away, but her kapitan learnt a lesson and did not hesitate to inform his fellow-pirates of his very narrow escape.
Always within easy distance of the open conning-tower hatchway and ready to submerge at an instant's notice, Ober-leutnant von Preugfeld maintained his solitary vigil, for the rest of the crew had been ordered to their diving stations. It was the life of a hunted animal, haunted by an ever-present fear. Von Preugfeld, prematurely aged and careworn, had suffered the torments of the damned since the order had been issued for unrestricted submarine warfare, At first he had entered into the business with grim zest. A firm believer in the policy of ruthlessness as applied to war, the ober-leutnant had no compunction in sinking unarmed merchantmen and hospital ships, but when the British Mercantile Marine took unto itself guns and gun-layers who could shoot uncommonly straight, and when the Royal Navy adopted certain sinister devices to cope with the pirate Hun, von Preugfeld did not feel at all happy.
By this time he was convinced that he was on the losing side. Almost every officer in the German Submarine Service had the same opinion, although individually they were loth to admit it. The men, too, knew that the U-boat campaign was a failure, but, unlike their officers, they discussed the matter amongst themselves and thought that it was quite about time they had a say in the business.
For a full forty minutes von Preugfeld paced the limited expanse of steel platform that comprised the U-boat's deck, until a faint whistle like the call of a curlew was borne to his ears.
Ordering a couple of hands on deck, the ober-leutnant gave the pre-arranged reply. For another five minutes the interchange of signals continued as the dinghy, baffled by the fog, endeavoured to find her way back to her parent ship.
Presently the black outlines of the little boat loomed through the moonlit mist. The bowman threw the painter, and von Loringhoven clambered on board.
"This confounded fog!" he exclaimed. "I have not seen a worse one even off the Friesland shore."
"And von Preussen?" asked the kapitan laconically.
"We landed him safely, Herr Kapitan," replied the unter-leutnant. "There was no one about. The actual business of setting him ashore was simple. We are to look out for him at the same place at midnight on the first of next month, I believe?"
"That is so," assented von Preugfeld. "That is, if we are still alive," he added, speaking to himself.