My nightly peregrinations had taken the form of periodic inspections below decks, with the rest of the time on the bridge ready for whatever action circumstances might bring forth. I had already made two such inspections and had barely reached the control room on my third descent when suddenly that sort of sixth sense which somehow grows within all ship captains twanged a warning note to my brain. Perhaps 'it was that the rudder went to full right and remained there, not easing off shortly as the zigzag plan would normally have required. It might have been the change from 'full' speed to 'flank,' although it was my later impression that Tom had not yet called for more speed. At any rate, I had leaped to the conning tower and was halfway through it when the collision alarm sounded.
There is nothing more eerie at sea on a black, unfriendly night than to have the collision alarm sound unexpectedly.
Somewhere out in the dark someone is trying to put the finger on you. He has seen you first-may already have killed you, only you don't know it yet. The collision alarm, in a vessel at war, is like a ship screaming in fright.
I don't consciously remember pulling myself up to the bridge, but I was there beside Tom before the alarm had stopped ringing, just before the hatch to the bridge went closed. Below decks the watertight doors were banging shut and everyone below knew this time it was no drill. It was like one fairly drawn-out simultaneous bang. The collision alarm could not have been silent for more than fifteen seconds be- fore a rapid voice on the bridge speaker announced, 'Ship rigged for collision!'
Tom pointed off on our port beam. 'There he is,' he whispered. 'He was broad on the bow when I saw him!'
I raised my binoculars still hung around, my neck, looked long and hard in the direction Tom pointed-nothing. Even though the control room had been 'redded' out, that is, darkened, with only dim red lights for visibility-I had reduced my night vision by going there, even if for only a second.
'I can't see him, Tom.' For no particular reason I also whispered.
'I can all right! Can't see much of him though. We are fine on his bow.'
I was subconsciously swinging my binoculars aft, trying to keep in the same line of vision as Walrus turned under us.
'Put our stern right on him, Tom,' I said.
'Aye aye, sir!'
I kept trying to see and suddenly there he was, surprisingly near, and surprisingly small. A little gray boat plunging deep in the sea; a square shadowy conning tower rising amidships.
About the size of the S-16, I would have guessed, although it was hard to compare.
'Wonder if he's seen us?' I muttered. 'N6 telling that 'God!' Tom grasped my arm so hard it hurt. He pointed to, the water alongside and to starboard. Not fifty feet away a white streak suddenly appeared on the surface of the water parallel to our course. Swiftly it came alongside and passed ahead. I leaped to the other side of the bridge, leaped back again.
'Do you see any more?'
Tom did not answer.
I ran to the other side once again, looked once more.
There came a scream from the forward starboard lookout.
'Torpedo wake!' he yelled.
Startled, I looked up, followed his outstretched arm with my eyes. It was the wake Tom and I had just seen.
'Torpedo!' The after starboard lookout was screaming, too, pointing farther aft. I swung around quickly, hoping my night vision was coming back. Nothing there. Merely the waves and wind slicks on the water.
I had been unconscious of the weather, except for its slight oppressiveness. Now suddenly it intruded itself upon my mind. The sea was neither calm nor rough but in that betwixt- and-between condition that is bard on small vessels and, not even an annoyance to large ones. The wind, because of our radical course change, now came from our starboard bow, sweeping across our decks and whistling in our ears. The now rolled slowly and heavily, farther to port than to star- board, and occasional seas swept over our after deck. It was dark-a good night for murder. I looked back at the German submarine. She was still there, closer, if anything.
'What do you think, Tom?' I tried to speak calmly, but my voice must have betrayed the racing beat of my heart 'Do you think he is chasing — us?'
Tom might have been about to answer when there came a loud cry from the port after lookout.
'TORPEDO, PORT QUARTER!'
This time there was no doubt. Another torpedo coming up on the other side. Close.
'Right full rudder!' shouted Tom.
'Belay that!' I screamed, right on his heels. The bridge rudder angle indicator wavered, then remained as it was.
'Tom,' I said savagely, 'nothing doing. That's what he wants us to do. As soon as we are broadside to him,' I let that thought finish itself.
'Sorry, skipper,' Tom muttered.
Seconds ticked by. Tom spoke again: 'Maybe if we manned the gun and opened fire…'
'No. Too risky down there on deck.' Then I had an idea, pressed the bridge speaker button. 'Control,' I called, 'load and fire three green flares.' Perhaps if the flares went up close alongside the German, or overhead, the glare might blind him to our position or scare him or otherwise dissuade his pursuit.
The torpedo coming up on the port side looked even closer than the first one, but, since we were stern to, it had to run parallel to us.
'Lookouts,' I shouted. 'The only torpedoes that can hurt us are the ones that come right up the stern. Keep a sharp lookout.'
I had not given much thought to how they would be able to distinguish a torpedo wake in the wash of our propellers but perhaps they might, especially from the advantage of their height. Another idea struck me.
Tom, I'm going up on top of the periscope shears. Tell control not to raise either of the periscopes. Listen for me from there.'
I climbed swiftly up to the top of the periscope support!
Three successive pops of high-pressure air came from same- where below as I climbed up, and when I reached there Tom called up, 'Captain, three green flares away.' Swinging my leg over the top of the steel towerlike structure I bestrode the top of the periscope shears like a man backward on horseback just in front of me was the bronze-lined bearing for the after periscope and immediately behind me was the round hole through which the forward periscope would pass.
Should the control room by accident raise either periscope I would find myself in a most uncomfortable position, if not indeed impaled by the blunt end of the instrument. In my exposed perch the wind whistled and tore at my clothes, and I was flung from side to side as the ship pitched and rolled. I grasped the periscope supports with my knees. Back aft four plumes of exhaust smoke spewed forth with a shower of spray, spattering water over our dock and onto the heaving black sea which would periodically rise up to submerge them.
I raised my binoculars. There he was, all right. I could see more of him from my high location. No doubt he was chasing us but we were making full speed, and were, fresh out of dry dock. We should be able to outrun him, although so far there seemed to be little indication that we were doing so.
Less than a mile away, nearer to fifteen hundred yards, the sharp-angled gray shape, low, broad, and sinister, plunged along in our wake throwing a cloud of spray and spume to either side. I could only see his deck in flashes as he plowed along, but the squat, square structure of his conning tower remained visible all the time.
The main thing, of course, was the possibility of more torpedoes and I searched the water between us. Running directly away from the German we presented a very difficult target.
Nevertheless there was always the possibility that a lucky shot might come our way. Two he had already fired, if one discounted the possibility of others we had not seen. He would not be likely to waste more without a better chance of a hit.
Conceivably we could fire one at him, though with no greater chance. It. looked like a stalemate. The German was hanging on, hoping, no doubt, that we might make a false move. If we were to submerge, he could be practically on top of us for an easy shot during the minute it would take us to get under. if we turned either way and presented our broadside, a torpedo would be coming instantly. Time crawled painfully while I clung with one hand
