"Only one, Herr Kapitan," exclaimed Unter-Leutnant Kuhlberg after a pause. "The other has missed."
"One will be enough," rejoined von Loringhoven. "Port your helm, quartermaster.... At that."
Blindly, and at a depth of thirty metres, the U-boat forged ahead. The ober-leutnant dared not risk rising, even for a momentary glimpse through the periscope, for the sharp crash of the cruiser's quick-firers told him that the "Tantalus," though sorely stricken, could still bite—and bite hard.
Not until the U-boat was two miles on the British vessel's port quarter did von Loringhoven bring her to the surface.
"They're firing at a piece of wreckage—what good fortune for us!" he exclaimed aloud without addressing his remark to any one. "Himmel! she has received her death-blow."
One by one the crew were permitted to take a peep at the hated English ship as she lay with a distinct list to starboard. Clouds of smoke and steam enveloped her for'ard portion, the wind driving the vapour in front of the slowly moving craft.
"She seems in no hurry, Herr Kapitan," the unter-leutnant ventured to remark. "They are not even hoisting out the boom-boats, although they have swung out the boats in davits."
"If they do not abandon ship very soon they'll have to swim for it," said von Loringhoven. "No sign of any of those cursed destroyers?"
Hans Kuhlberg revolved the eyepiece of the periscope and made a clear sweep of the horizon.
"None, Herr Kapitan," he replied.