The shell, fired at almost point-blank range, had penetrated the conning-tower, killing the captain and ripping the steel plating like cardboard. More, the fragments of the exploded missile had put out of action all the crew of the fore quick-firer.
Terrified by the appalling concussion the engine-room ratings of the submarine abandoned their posts at the motor and ran on deck, while the after-gun's-crew, realizing that they were trapped, made no attempt to use their piece, especially as they were covered by the formidable 4-inch on the "Asphodel's" deck.
With their hands held high above their heads the pirates raised a monotonous shout of "Mercy, Englishmen!"
The submarine was done for. With the conning-tower shattered she could not dive; apart from the abandonment of the motors, she could not seek safety in flight, for even if running on the surface she would quickly be swamped by the seas pouring over her low freeboard.
"Mercy, Englishmen! Mercy!"
The cry was repeated over and over again. The recreant Teutons, taken red-handed, were firmly convinced that their captors intended putting them to death—the extreme penalty for their guilt.
Terence glanced in the direction of the two trawlers. They were approaching slowly, for the wind was still light. Before the arrival of his superior officer the sub. realized that the mischief he anticipated might be consummated.
"Where is your captain?" he shouted.
The babel ceased. One German, a petty officer, knew how to speak English after a fashion.
"He kapitan Schluk he dead," he replied.