Our commander now perceived that the monitor he had hit was sinking, though slowly, at the bows. He shouted, therefore, to the second launch to go at her. She did so at once; slipped in, under the fire and smoke that belched from her side, and fixed another torpedo to her stern in the same manner as the former. The officer in charge perceived, however, that the current would not drive it against the ship. He therefore shot away for a hundred yards,—the extent of his electric cable,—and then fired the charge. A terrible explosion took place. Parts of the ship were blown into the air, and a huge plank came down on the Russian launch, like an avenging thunderbolt, pierced the iron screen, which had so effectually resisted the bullets, and passed between two sailors without injuring either. It did no further damage, however, and when the crew turned to look at their enemy, they saw the great ironclad in the act of sinking. In a few minutes nothing of her was left above water except her masts. The crew were drowned, with the exception of a few who escaped by swimming.
By this time it was daybreak, and our danger, within near range of the other monitors, of course became very great. Just then an incident occurred which might have proved fatal to us. Our screw fouled, and the boat became unmanageable. Observing this, a Turkish launch from one of the monitors bore down upon us. One of our sailors, who chanced to be a good diver, jumped over the side and cleared the screw. Meanwhile the men opened so heavy fire on the enemy’s launch that she veered off, and a few minutes later we were steaming down the Danube towards the place from which the boats had set forth on their deadly mission.
“That was gloriously done, wasn’t it?” said Nicholas to me with enthusiasm, after the first blaze of excitement began to abate;—“one of the enemy’s biggest ironclads sent to the bottom, with all her crew, at the trifling expense of two or three hundred pounds’ weight of powder, and not a man injured on our side!”
I looked earnestly in my friend’s handsome face for a few seconds.
“Yes,” said I, slowly; “many thousands of pounds’ worth of human property destroyed, months of human labour and ingenuity wasted, and hundreds of young lives sacrificed, to say nothing of relatives bereaved and souls sent into eternity before their time—truly, if that is glory, it has been gloriously done!”
“Bah! Jeff,” returned Nicholas, with a smile; “you’re not fit to live in this world, you should have had a special one created for yourself. But come, let me hear how you came to be voyaging à la Boyton on the Danube.”
We at once began a rapid fire of question and reply. Among other things, Nicholas informed me that the two boats which had accomplished this daring feat were commanded by Lieutenants Dubasoff and Thestakoff, one with a crew of fourteen, the other of nine, men.
“The world is changing, Nicholas,” said I, as we landed. “That the wooden walls of Old England have passed away has long been acknowledged by every one, but it seems to me now that her iron walls are doomed to extinction, and that ere long the world’s war-navies will consist of nothing but torpedo-boats, and her wars will become simply tournaments therewith.”
“It may be so,” said Nicholas gaily, as he led the way to his quarters. “It may be that extremes shall meet at last, and we shall be reduced by sheer necessity to universal peace.”
“That would be glorious indeed,” said I, “though it would have the uncomfortable effect of leaving you without employment.”