She was much down by the stern.
Suddenly she stood on end, remained poised there for a perceptible fraction of time, and then slid down backwards and disappeared in a smother of white water.
The pilots were back in harbour in time to dress for dinner.
But U-B 20, her wicked hopes frustrated, lay at the bottom of the North Sea in twenty-two fathoms.
She had been killed dead.
August was a cold miserable month. Mist and fog shrouded the southern portion of the North Sea, and when there was no mist and fog, heavy clouds hung like palls low over the surface, or there were heavy rain-squalls and high winds.
Only two submarines were sighted, neither being bombed.
But it was a welcome stand-easy for the pilots and ratings who had been working double tides for four months.
Lifting 230-lb. bomb into place.