The
observer sees a puff of smoke from the deck of a destroyer and a quick
splash of water obscures the view momentarily.
"They have seen us and are firing."
But the steamship is now within a mile, within fairly accurate torpedo
range. An order rolls into the torpedo-room and the crew prepare for
firing. In the meantime a shower of shells explode about the periscope.
There comes a sudden vagueness on the glass into which the observer has
been gazing.
"The periscope has been hit."
Thoughts of launching the torpedo vanish. Safety first is now the
dominant emotion. Additional water flows into the tanks and the craft
begins to settle. But as she does so there is a sudden flood of water
into the control-room; a hoarse cry goes up from the crew. The officers
draw their revolvers. Evidently the injured periscope has caused a leak.
Before anything can be done there is a tremendous grinding, rending
explosion; the thin steel walls contract under the force of the released
energy. Above them the destroyer crew gazing eagerly at the geyser-like
volume of water arising from the sea descry pieces of metal, dark
objects of all sorts. The sea quiets and up from the depths arise clouds
of oil, spreading slowly over the waves. The U-47-1/2 has joined many a
nobler craft upon the wastes of subaqueous depths.
But not always has the outcome of a submarine attack been so fortunate
for us. There have been thousands of instances--many more of them in the
past than at present, fortunately--where the U-boat returned to her base
with a murderous story to tell.
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