Then again, I am risking my all, my life; I live in danger,
apprehension and great discomfort; I do all these things, and yet if as
a reasonable man I ponder what advantage I am to gain from all these
sacrifices I am adjudged selfish.
It is all madness; I cannot fathom the meaning of these things.
* * * * *
In position on the Bristol line of approach, the weather is bad.
_At twenty metres._
Once again Death has stretched forth his bony fingers to catch me by
the throat, and only by a chance have I wriggled free.
Yesterday afternoon at 5 p.m. we sighted a small steamer flying Spanish
colours and steering for Cardiff. The weather was choppy, but not too
bad, and I decided to exercise the gun's crew, though I did not think
there would be much doing, as the Spaniards soon give in.
I opened fire at six thousand metres, and pitched a shell ahead of her
and ran up the signal to heave-to. The wretched little craft paid no
attention, and continued on her lumbering course. I suspected the
presence of an Englishman on her bridge, and determined to hit.
This we did with our sixth shot, and she stopped dead and wallowed in
the trough, with clouds of steam pouring out of her engine-room; we had
evidently got the engine-room.
As we closed her, it was evident that a tremendous panic was taking
place on board. The port sea boat was being launched, but one fall
broke and the occupants fell into the water. My Navigator begged me to
give her another, which I did, and hit her right aft.
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