We went on at full speed, as it was our
intention to pass the Dover Straits before dawn. Though our
intelligence bureau issues the most alarming reports as to the
frightfulness of the defences here I was agreeably surprised at the
ease with which we passed. Von Weissman, to whom I had hinted that we
might find the passage tricky, rather laughed at my suggestion, and
described to me his method, which, at all events, has the merit of
simplicity.
He always goes through with the tide, so as to take as short a time as
possible, and he always decides on a course and steers it as closely as
possible, keeping to the surface unless he sights anything, and diving
as soon as anything shows up. Even if he dives he goes on as fast as
possible on his course, irrespective of whether he is being bombed or
not.
I must say it worked very well last night. We shaped a course to pass
five miles west of Gris Nez, and when that light, which for some reason
the French had commodiously lit that night, was abeam, we sighted a
black object, probably a trawler or destroyer, about half a dozen miles
away right ahead. Weissman immediately dived and, without deviating a
degree from his course, held on at three-quarters speed on the motors.
Some time later the hydrophone watchkeeper reported the sound of
propellers in his listeners, and that he judged them to be close at
hand, so I imagine we passed very nearly directly underneath whatever
it was.
After an hour's submerging we rose, and found dawn breaking over a
leaden and choppy sea.
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