Soon we were on our way to intercept and destroy the first of the lurking Huns. Running at full speed on the surface, we kept our wireless busy, and soon had the satisfaction of knowing that our dispositions had been made to circumvent the enemy’s plots. Finally, nearing the scene of action, we submerged.
I need not here describe the tension of the hours which followed. Amid the steady hum of the machinery, Jeans was constantly busy, now scanning the surface of the sea through our periscope, now giving a watchful eye to every detail of the submarine’s complicated machinery.
At last, just as the first grey streaks of dawn showed on the horizon, he called me to the periscope, and, reflected in the mirror, I saw faintly the thin plume of smoke from the funnels of the approaching liner.
We knew that somewhere in that zone an enemy submarine lay awaiting her prey.
For half an hour we were keenly on the alert, as we watched the approaching liner. The captain had been warned by wireless, and we knew there would be no lack of watchfulness on board. We could imagine the gun-crew standing at their stations, every eye strained for the first sight of the enemy.
It came at last. Almost directly between us and the liner a German U-boat thrust her periscope out of the water and launched a torpedo. We saw the big liner swing suddenly to her swiftly ported helm, and we heard afterwards that, owing to her steersman’s promptness, the torpedo missed her bow by not more than a few feet.
Just as the liner turned the submarine broke water—why, I never could understand. Probably her commander was too supremely certain that his shot had gone home, or else some error in navigation had brought him to the surface earlier than he intended, for obviously it was his duty to remain submerged until he was sure his work was done.
Be that as it may, it was his last mistake. As the grey whale-back of the submarine rose above the water the gun of the Athabasca spoke. The first shot was over, the second short. Before the third was fired we had also bobbed up suddenly, and the U-boat found herself the target of two antagonists.
There could be only one end to such a fight. Almost simultaneously the third shot of the Athabasca and our first rang out, and both shells found their mark. One struck the conning-tower fair and square, blowing it clean away; the other crashed into the upper part of the hull, tearing a huge gap, and in a few seconds the enemy vessel had sunk with all hands, leaving only a flood of oil on the heaving surface of the sea to show where she had disappeared.
Next day I was on the Sud Express for Paris, while Madame Gabrielle, whom I had recalled by wire, followed me a few hours later.