E1, also a Baltic boat, her Commander F.N. Laurence, had her
experiences too. She went out one summer day and late--too late--in
the evening sighted three transports. The first she hit. While she was
arranging for the second, the third inconsiderately tried to ram her
before her sights were on. So it was necessary to go down at once and
waste whole minutes of the precious scanting light. When she rose, the
stricken ship was sinking and shortly afterwards blew up. The other
two were patrolling near by. It would have been a fair chance in
daylight, but the darkness defeated her and she had to give up the
attack.
It was E1 who during thick weather came across a squadron of
battle-cruisers and got in on a flanking ship--probably the _Moltke_.
The destroyers were very much on the alert, and she had to dive at
once to avoid one who only missed her by a few feet. Then the fog shut
down and stopped further developments. Thus do time and chance come to
every man.
The Trade has many stories, too, of watching patrols when a boat must
see chance after chance go by under her nose and write--merely
write--what she has seen. Naturally they do not appear in any
accessible records. Nor, which is a pity, do the authorities release
the records of glorious failures, when everything goes wrong; when
torpedoes break surface and squatter like ducks; or arrive full square
with a clang and burst of white water and--fail to explode; when the
devil is in charge of all the motors, and clutches develop play that
would scare a shore-going mechanic bald; when batteries begin to give
off death instead of power, and atop of all, ice or wreckage of the
strewn seas racks and wrenches the hull till the whole leaking bag of
tricks limps home on six missing cylinders and one ditto propeller,
_plus_ the indomitable will of the red-eyed husky scarecrows in
charge.
There might be worse things in this world for decent people to read
than such records.