"Missed ahead!" he said, with intense feeling, "I'll have to use that
confounded gun."
In about three minutes the Captain and myself were on the bridge and
the crew were at their stations round the gun.
For the first time I saw the ship; she was stern on and apparently
painted with black and white stripes. As I examined her through
glasses--she was distant about 3,000 yards--I saw a flash aboard her
and a few seconds later a projectile moaned overhead and fell about
6,000 yards over. So she is armed, thought I, and she has actually
opened fire on us first.
The effect of this unexpected retort on the part of the Englishman was
to throw Weissman into a paroxysm of rage.
"Why don't you fire? What the devil are you waiting for?" etc., etc.,
were some of the remarks he flung at the gun crew.
I did not consider it advisable to mention to him that they were
probably waiting his order to fire, and also his orders for range and
deflection, as I had imagined that, here as everywhere else, an officer
controls the gun-fire. Apparently in this boat it is not so, as
Weissman takes so little interest in his gun that he affects to be, or
else actually is, ignorant of the elements of gun control.
At any rate, under the lash of his tongue, the gun's crew soon got into
action, the gun-layer taking charge. Our first shot was short, very
considerably so, as was also the second. Meanwhile the steamer had been
keeping up a very creditably controlled rate of fire, straddling us
twice, but missing for deflection, as was natural considering that we
were bows on to her.
I felt thoroughly in my element listening to the significant wail of
the enemy's shell, punctuated by the ear-splitting report of our own
gun. Weissman, gripping the rail with both hands, and to my surprise
ducking when one went overhead, watched the target with a fixed
expression, but made no attempt to control our gun-fire, which was far
from creditable, as is inevitable when it is left to the mercy of the
inferior intellect of a seaman.
However, at the tenth or eleventh round we hit her in the upper works,
as was shown by a bright red and yellow flash near her funnel. This did
not check her firing or speed in the least, in fact she seemed to be
gaining on us. She also began to zigzag slightly and throw smoke bombs
overboard, which were not so effective from her point of view as I had
thought they would be.
Matters were thus for some minutes. We had just hit her aft for the
second time, though the shooting was so disgustingly bad that I was
about to ask whether I might do the duties of control officer, when
there was a blinding flash and the air seemed filled with moaning
fragments. When I had recovered from my relief from finding that I was
personally uninjured, I observed that two of the gun's crew were
wounded and one was lying, either killed or seriously wounded, on the
casing. We had been hit in the casing, well forward, and, as was
subsequently proved when we dived, little material damage was caused to
the boat.
This enemy success caused a temporary cessation of fire. The two
wounded men were cautiously making their way aft to the conning tower,
and I called for a couple of stokers to come up and carry away the
third, when Von Weissman suddenly gave the order to dive. The gun's
crew at once made a rush for the conning tower, and were down the hatch
in a trice, one of the wounded men fainting at the bottom.
I was unaware as to the reason of this order to dive, and thought that
perhaps the Captain had sighted a periscope. As I was turning to
precede him down the conning tower hatch I distinctly saw the man lying
by the gun lift his hand. I felt I could not leave him there, and
instinctively cried, "He is still alive!" But Von Weissman, who was
urging the crew to hurry down the hatch, pressed the diving alarm as
soon as the last sailor was half in the hatch.
I knew that this meant that the boat would be under in 30 to 40
seconds, so I had no alternative but to get down the hatch as quickly
as possible.
I did so with reluctance, and I was followed by Von Weissman, who
joined me in the upper conning tower.
I forced myself not to look out of the conning tower scuttles during
the few seconds that elapsed as the casing slowly went under, until at
last nothing but waving green water showed at each little window. I
feared that, if I had looked, I would have seen a wounded man, stung
into activity by the cold touch of the Atlantic. Perhaps Von Weissman
read my thoughts, or else he remembered my remark concerning the man,
for he turned to me and in level tones said:
"Have you any doubt that he was dead?"