I dived, intending to surface again as soon as possible. With this
intention in my head, I did not go below the upper conning tower. We
had barely got to ten metres, when loud cries from below and the
disquieting noise of rushing water told me that something was wrong. I
blew all tanks, surfaced, left the First Lieutenant on watch and went
below.
There were five centimetres of water on the battery boards, and I
understood at once that we could never dive again.
For the pedestal of the gun, in being forced over, had strained the
longitudinal seam of the pressure hull, to which it is bolted, and a
shower of water had come through as soon as we got under.
It might have been hoped that this was enough, but no! our cup was not
yet full. Chlorine gas suddenly began to fill the fore-end. The salt
water running down into the battery tanks had found acid, and though I
ordered quantities of soda to be put down into the tank, it became, and
still is at the moment of writing, impossible to move forward of the
conning tower without putting on a gas mask and oxygen helmet. So we
are helpless, and at the mercy of any little trawler, or even the
weather.
We have no gun; we cannot dive. The English must know that they have
hit us, and every hour I expect to see the hull of a destroyer climb
over the horizon astern.
We are fortunate in two respects: in that for the time being the
weather seems to promise well, and our Diesels are thoroughly sound.
We are ordered to Zeebrugge--I could have wished elsewhere for many
reasons, but it does not matter, as I cannot believe we are intended to
escape.
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