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British artillerymen stationed at the summit of Langdon Stairs near Dover looked out to sea. They saw a snorting little tug--nothing unusual. But one keen-eyed soldier pointed to a tiny speck kicking up a faint spray. It must be another one of these channel swimmers.

Thirty soldiers rushed to the ropes, lowered themselves down the steep cliff, waited on the beach. Finally out of the water, a stocky son of Siegfried staggered, shook himself, collapsed. The Britishers worked on him, kneaded his muscles, rubbed his lungs. Consciousness dawned; the German asked:

"Wo bin ich?" "In Dover," said the soldieis.

Politely, in his best Teutonic accent, the invader thanked them, waded back to a small boat, boarded his launch, returned to Cape Gris-Nez, France.

That night all Deutschland-toasted the name of Ernst Vierkoetter, baker, he who had swum the English Channel in 12 hr. 42 min., thereby lowering Gertrude Ederle's record by 2 hr., beating the best male time by 4 hr. Only six days before, Herr Vierkoetter had battled waves and a blinding fog for ten hours, failed to reach the Dover cliffs. Even then people wondered of what stuff this man was made.

"Including onetime Crown Prince Frederick William, who had staked the able Teuton swimmer.