The midland journal., 1917-10-12

mans bow. A coil of cloud followed
it. A few seconds later the boom of
the discharge echoed across the water,
and pillar of spray shot up near the
Beotia's bow. The battleship turned
toward her prey.
And Donald's chance had come.
The Beotia had no intention of sur
rendering. The German, following
her, perceived the lurking danger, and
at once his guns were trained on the
submarine.
The F55 dipped at the bow. A shell
hooted over her, and second, falling
shorter, deluged the submersible with
water. But the F55 was stern down
and sinking. Her periscope shot
through the waves, the only target,
and in the coming tower Donald sat
with his eyes fast on the mirror.
Ten feet below the surface the F55
plunged on toward the monarch Of the
sea.
The sound of the guns was vastly
louder under the waves. A single shot,
sent home, would smash through the
thin plates as If they were of paper.
But Donald knew that it was the su-
preme moment when danger must be
ignored. He seemed to sense the ship,
the crew, as single entity, devoted
to single purpose. He aimed his
bow directly into his enemy's port
flank. Sc was less than a mile away.
At that distance it seemed a miracle
that her shells failed to strike home.
Down in the torpedo room three
men bore torpedo from the rack and
placed it in the slings. They swung
it forward into the breech of the tube.
One man at the pump rapidly filed the
breech chamber with the compressed
air that was to send the missile upon
it's course.
Donald, in the coming tower, still
held the cruiser within the mirror. He
saw the smoke coil from her guns, he
heard their dull reverberation, and
knew that at any moment the blinded
F55 might be sent staggering to her
death through the wake of her wash.
But he was animated by the single
minded purpose which inspired all and
made the steel and human mechanism
a bolt forged for death.
Clouts, at the wheel, did not allow
the little craft to deviate a hairs
breadth from her course.
"Stand by!"
The hiss of the oxygen apparatus
dominated all other sounds. At her
fha hn
launching tube with heavy thud, and
the ship quivered as she shook herself
free.
And Donald knew that his shot had
gone home.
The whir grew less, but all listened
until the end of the mile-long journey.
On board the enemy ship everyone
could see the air bubbles that came up
from the speeding missile and its
white, foaming wake. There was no
time to maneuver the giant ship. They
prayed-they could do no more-that
the torpedo might not have been shot
true; that it might deviate from its
imminent path.
1t came on inexOrably. The firing
became wilder. The gunners, abb
sorbed as they were in their task,
seemed permeated with the contagious
terror caused by that White, ripping
pencil line that was extending toward
their ship.
The missile struck the battle cruiser
amidships, blowing out section of
her hull, single water-tight compart-
ment. The cruiser hardly staggered
from the blow.
The torpedo had struck glancing,
and missed the full force of It's deliv-
cry. The wound was in itself too
small to sink or even badly cripple the
great ship; a triumph of shipbuilding,
and calculated to withstand just such
an impact.
Unfortunately for her, the maximum
of the shock was received beneath the
powder room, adjacent to the ammu-
milton chamber, whose doors were
open at that moment for the removal
of the 12-inch shells by the ammuni-
ton hoist.
The shock was followed by an inf
mite suspense. Perhaps it lasted for
two seconds. The cruiser drove
through the waves like some sea mon
ster that had received a deadly thrust
unScathed.
Then, with a detonation that was
heard from Sumburgh to Sutherland
she went sky-high in tumbling ruin.
Donald within the coming tower, saw
blur frost the mirror of the peri
scope. !