Just then a torpedo-boat was seen to quit the side of the Russian. We were ready for her. Our largest Gatling gun had been hoisted to that platform on our mast which is styled the “top.”
When within range this weapon commenced firing. It was absolutely horrible. One man turned a handle at the breech, another kept supplying the self-acting cartridge-box. As the handle was turned the cartridges dropped into their places and exploded. Six or nine tubes, I forget which, were thus made to rain bullets without intermission. They fell on the screen of the advancing torpedo-boat like hail, but quite harmlessly. Then I heard a voice within the fore-turret give a command which sounded like “Extreme depression.” It was quickly followed by “Fire!” and the Thunderer quivered from keel to truck under the mighty explosion. The great 38-ton gun had been splendidly served, for the monster ball hit the boat amidships and crushed the bow under water, at the same instant the stern leaped into the air, and she went down with a dive like a Greenland whale.
Hearty cheers burst from the men in the “top.” These were echoed with a muffled sound from the men shut up in the armoured hull below—for it must be remembered that not a soul had been visible all this time on the Thunderer except the men in the “top” and those who had been sent to lower the steam-launch.
Apparently rendered savage by this event, the Russians let fly a volley from their four great-guns, but without serious result. They had been admirably pointed, however, for the two outer shots hit our turrets, deeply indented them, and glanced off, while the inner shots went slap through the flying structure as if it had been made of pasteboard, leaving clean-cut holes, which, of course, only made the place more airy.
Night had now fallen. The danger of attack by torpedo-boats having been recognised, both ironclads had let down their crinolines. But the captain of the Thunderer had resolved on a—a—what shall I call it?—a “dodge,” which would probably deceive the enemy. He had an electric light on board. Every one knows nowadays that this is an intense light, which, being thrown on a given point, illuminates it with a glare equal, almost, to that of day. After dark the captain shot this light from his mast-head straight at the enemy, and in the full glare of it our steam-launch or torpedo-boat was sent out!
I was amazed beyond measure. Forgetting myself for a moment, I exclaimed, “Captain, you are mad!”
As might have been expected, the captain made no reply.
The steam-launch carried two torpedoes, each containing 100 pounds of powder.
“Be careful to sheer off quickly after exploding,” said the captain to Firebrand quietly.
Firebrand replied, “Yes, sir,” respectfully, but I heard him distinctly add, in a low tone, to himself, “I’ll run slap into her and blow her to atoms as well as myself. Somebody must fail in every action. It’s a forlorn hope at sea, that’s all.—Full steam!” he added aloud to the engineer.