It is an electric cooker, of course. Housewives who
operate kitchenettes in Manhattan will appreciate the amount of room
which the cook has. And, by the way, this being a German submarine, the
oily odors, the smell of grease, and the like are complicated by an
all-pervading smell of cabbage and coffee. Two little cabins, the size
of a clothes-chest, accommodate the deck and engine-rooms officers--two
in each. Then there is a little box-cabin for the commander.
As the sun rises higher the commander goes into his cabin and soon after
emerges on deck. His coat and trousers are of black leather lined with
wool, a protection against oil, cold, and wet weather. The crew are at
their stations.
"Machines clear," comes a voice from the control-station.
"Clear ship," comes the order from the bridge, followed by "Cast off."
The cables hiss through the water and slap on the landing-stage; the
sound of purring fills the submarine which glides slowly into open
water. Into the bay comes another U-boat. Stories of her feat in sinking
a steamship loaded with mutton for England has preceded her. There has
been loss of life connected with that sinking, but this makes no
difference to the Teutonic mind, and the officer of the U-47-1/2 shouts
his congratulations.
Now the submarine is out in the open sea, the waves are heavy and the
vessel rolls uncomfortably. The craft, it may be remarked, is not the
craft for a pleasant sea-voyage. The two officers hanging onto the rails
turn their eyes seaward.
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