I relieved the
First Lieutenant at the periscope, and when a decent interval of about
half an hour had elapsed I saw a ship. This vessel of my imagination, a
veritable Flying Dutchman in fact, I proceeded to attack, and, after
about twenty minutes of frequent alterations of speed and course, I
electrified the boat by bringing the bow tubes to the ready.
The usual delay was most artistically arranged, and then I fired. With
secret amusement I watched the two expensive weapons of war rushing
along, but destined to sink ingloriously in the ocean, instead of
burying themselves in the vitals of a ship. An oath from myself and an
order to take the boat to twenty metres.
With gloomy countenance I curtly remarked: "The port torpedo broke
surface and then dived underneath her, the starboard one missed
astern."
So far all had gone well, but ten minutes later I nearly made a fatal
error. We had been diving for several hours, the atmosphere was bad,
and as it was dusk I decided to come up, ventilate, and put a charge on
the batteries. I gave the necessary orders, and was on my way up the
conning tower to open the outer hatch. The coxswain had just announced
that the boat was on the surface, when a terrible thought paralysed me,
and I clung helplessly to the ladder trying to think out the situation.
It had just occurred to me that as soon as the officers and crew came
on deck they would naturally look for the steamer we had recently fired
at; this ship in the time interval which had elapsed would still be in
sight.
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