Lieutenant Petersen was looking through his night glasses at the light.
"I believe he is signaling," he said excitedly. "The light flashes
continually to and fro. I hope it is not a scout ship trying to speak
with some one."
Hardly had the lieutenant uttered these words when we all three jumped
as if electrified, because certainly in our immediate neighborhood
flashed before us several quick lights giving signals, which
undoubtedly came from the ship second in line, which was signaling to
our first friend.
"Great God! An enemy ship! Not more than three hundred meters ahead!"
I exclaimed to myself.
"Hard a starboard! Both engines at highest speed ahead! To the diving
stations!"
In a subdued voice, I called my commands down the tower.
The phonograph in the crew-room stopped abruptly. A hasty, eager
running was discernible through the entire boat as each one hurried to
his post.
The boat immediately obeyed the rudder and was flying to starboard.
Between the two hostile ships there was a continuous exchange of
signals.
"God be praised it is so dark!" I exclaimed with a deep breath as soon
as the first danger had passed.
"And to think that the fellow had to betray his presence by his
chattering signals just as we were about to run right into his arms,"
was the answer. "This time we can truly say that the good God, Himself,
had charge of the rudder."
The engineer appeared on the stairway which leads from the "Centrale"
up to the conning tower.
"May I go to the engine-room, Herr Captain-Lieutenant?"
It was not permissible for him to leave his diving station, the
"Centrale," which is situated in the center of the boat, without
special permission.
"Yes, Herr Engineer, go ahead down and fire up hard!" I replied.
The thumping of the heavy oil-motors became stronger, swelled higher
and higher, and, at last, became a long drawn out roar, and entirely
drowned the sound of the occasional jolts which always were distinctly
discernible when going at slower speed. One truly felt how the boat
exerted its strength to the utmost and did everything within its power.
We had put ourselves on another course which put the anxiously
signaling Britishers obliquely aport of our stern, and rushed with the
highest speed for about ten minutes until their lights became smaller
and weaker. We then turned point by point into our former course, and
thus slipped by in a large half circle around the hostile ships.
"Just as a cat around a bowl of hot oatmeal," said Lieutenant Petersen.
"No, my dear friend," I said laughingly, "it does not entirely
coincide. The cat always comes back, but the oatmeal is too hot for us
in this case. Or do you think that I intend to circle around those two
rascals for hours?"
"Preferably not, Herr Captain-Lieutenant. It could end badly!"
"Both engines in highest speed forward, let the crew leave the diving
stations, place the guards!" I ordered.[4]
* * * * *
It was three minutes after six o'clock, and within about half an hour
the sun would rise, but the sea and the sky still floated together in
the colorless drab of early dawn and permitted one only to imagine, not
see, that partition wall, the horizon.
Unceasingly our binoculars pierced the gray dusk of daybreak. Suddenly
a shiver went through my body when--only a second immovable and in
intense suspense--a dark shadow within range of the spy-glass made
me jump. The shadow grew and became larger, like a giant on the
horizon--one mast; one, two, three, four funnels--a destroyer.
A quick command--I leap down into the tower. The water rushes into the
diving tanks. The conning tower covers slam tight behind me--and the
agony which follows tries our patience, while we count seconds with
watches in hand until the tanks are filled, and the boat slips below
the sea.
Never in my life did a second seem so long to me. The destroyer, which
is not more than two thousand meters distant from us, has, of course,
seen us, and is speeding for us as fast as her forty thousand horse
power can drive her. From the guns mounted on her bow flash one shot
after another aimed to destroy us.
Good God! If he only does not hit! Just one little hit, and we are
lost! Already the water splashes on the outside of the conning tower
up to the glass windows through which I see the dark ghost, streaking
straight for us. It is terrifying to hear the shells bursting all
around us in the water. It sounds like a triphammer against a steel
plate, and closer and closer come the metallic crashes. The rascal is
getting our range.
There--the fifth shot--the entire boat trembles--then the deceitful
daylight disappears from the conning-tower window. The boat obeys the
diving rudder and submerges into the sea.
A reddish-yellow light shines all around us; the indicator of the
manometer, which measures our depth, points to eight meters, nine
meters, ten meters, twelve meters. Saved!