‘It might have happened to any type of boat, you know, really,’ he continued. ‘It was a sheer bit of bad luck.’
It was coming, and I nodded in silence.
‘I’ve never been able to quite make out how it happened,’ he went on. ‘Whether poor old Belton made a mistake, or the Dutchman got scared and put his helm over.’
‘The Dutchman?’ I queried.
‘Norwegian tramp bound out for the Atlantic. Off Portland we were. We’d been told off with a T.B. for practice attacks, and were in shallow water at the time, about ten fathoms. About ten o’clock in the morning it was, and lovely weather too. The T.B. was away on ahead of us, and just before we dived we noticed a steamer about six miles off coming towards us down Channel. I remember pointing her out to Belton. Then we went under, and I was busy for’ard with the “fish.” Belton had taken careful bearings of the tramp, and I’m not sure whether he got so interested in his attack that he didn’t pay enough attention to her, or whether the tramp suddenly saw the T.B.’s flag and banged the helm over. I think it was a bit of both.
‘We’d been diving about half an hour when the skipper ordered me to “flood the tubes,” and about five minutes later I got the order “stand by.” You know how those old boats were, the way the sluice door worked and so on?’
I nodded and sipped my drink.
‘The T.I. and I brought her to the ready and reported, and then came the stillness that immediately precedes a shot; you know, everybody waiting for the order.
‘“Stand by” Belton called again, and then to the coxswains, “when I fire, forty feet.”
‘It was just then that I thought I heard a sound, the rumbling noise of a train in a tunnel or the screw of a steamer close to. I imagined it was the T.B., and I remember thinking that Belton was taking her rather close to the target. The noise got louder and louder, and the men began to look at one another, and then I heard the skipper’s voice from the control room.