“Looks like it,” replied Jack, “or they would certainly be using their searchlights to make out the presence of an enemy.”
“They haven’t the slightest idea an enemy could have penetrated the mined area safely,” replied the commander of the submarine. “But look, she is about to go.”
He pointed toward the wounded German warship. His words were true. Amidst the flashing searchlights of her sister ships, the dreadnought reared high in the air. There she poised herself for a moment; then, slowly, midst a broad circle of brilliancy, she sank, the cries of those of her crew still aboard mingling with the shouts and commands from the other ships making the night hideous.
A fierce red flame, from the top of her to the very water’s edge, where it hissed loud and long, enveloped the sinking ship, as the smoke arose in a dense cloud. Came another dull explosion, and the ship split in twain. For a moment there were two distinct sheets of flame, and then the fore and aft parts of the vessel disappeared beneath the water simultaneously.
“Well, she’s gone,” said Lord Hastings. “Now for the next one.”
“We are safe enough here, sir,” said Jack, “and we are close enough to hit her. Why not fire without submerging?”
“All right,” replied his commander quietly. “Order No. 2 torpedo launched immediately,” and he gave the range.
Jack hastened below, only to hurry back upon the bridge again, which he reached just in time to see the second ship in the German line stagger, and sway drunkenly.
Again loud cries of fear carried across the water, and the searchlights of the still unhit German ships played upon the second wounded vessel.
“No. 3 and No. 4 torpedoes right into the midst of them!” cried Lord Hastings, and Jack jumped below to give the command.