Putting courage aside, think for a moment of the mere drill of it all—­that last dive for that attack on the chosen battleship; the eye at the periscope watching “No. 1 torpedo” get home; the rush of the vengeful destroyer; the instant orders for flooding everything; the swift descent which had to be arranged for with full knowledge of the shallow sea-floors waiting below, and a guess at the course that might be taken by the seeking bows above, for assuming a destroyer to draw 10 feet and a submarine on the bottom to stand 25 feet to the top of her conning-tower, there is not much clearance in 43 feet salt water, specially if the boat jumps when she touches bottom.  And through all these and half a hundred other simultaneous considerations, imagine the trained minds below, counting, as only torpedo-men can count, the run of the merciless seconds that should tell when that second shot arrived.  Then “at the correct interval” as laid down in the table of distances, the boom and the jar of No. 2 torpedo, the relief, the exhaled breath and untightened lips; the impatient waiting for a second peep, and when that had been taken and the eye at the periscope had reported one little nigger-boy in place of two on the waters, perhaps cigarettes, &c., while the destroyer sickled about at a venture overhead.

Certainly they give men rewards for doing such things, but what reward can there be in any gift of Kings or peoples to match the enduring satisfaction of having done them, not alone, but with and through and by trusty and proven companions?

DEFEATED BY DARKNESS

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.