I held on
for five minutes, which was sufficient to save me from the depth-charge
attack, though two which went off almost above me broke some lamps. I
then came up to twenty metres and slowly crawled on. Throughout the
long afternoon, though we were not directly attacked again, I heard
depth-charges on several occasions sufficiently close to me to
demonstrate that these implacable and tireless devils had an idea of
the area I was in.
By a supreme effort, working one motor at the only speed it would go,
viz., "Dead slow," I managed to squeeze out the battery until I
estimated it must be dusk.
There was only one thing to do--I surfaced. It was not as dark as I had
hoped, and I saw a fairly large sloop-like vessel, about eight thousand
metres away, on the port beam. She must have seen me simultaneously, as
the flash of a gun darted from her, the shell falling short.
I couldn't dive; there seemed only one thing to do: fight and then die.
I ordered the gun's crew up, and the unequal duel began. We were going
full speed on the Diesels, and my course was east by north. A good deal
of water and spray was flying over the gun, and my crew had little hope
of doing much accurate shooting, but I have often found that when one
is being fired at there is nothing so comforting as the sound of one's
own gun.
Our enemy was armed with two large guns, fifteen centimetres or over,
but had no speed, a discovery which raised my hopes again. It was soon
evident that, provided we were not heading for another patrol, if we
could survive ten minutes' shelling, we should be saved for the time
being by the fading light, which was evidently causing our enemy
increasing difficulties, as his shots alternated between very short and
very much over.
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