When I drew clear of the entrance I saw the enemy distant about a thousand metres. I at once recognized her as being one of the oldest type of Russian torpedo boats afloat. When I established this fact, a devil entered into my mind, and did a most foolhardy act.
I decided that I would not retreat beneath the sea, but that I would fight her as one service ship to another.
When I make up my mind, I do so in no uncertain manner—indecision is abhorrent to me—and I sharply ordered, "Gun's Crew—Action."
I can still see the comical look of wonderment which passed over my First Lieutenant's face, but he knows me, and did not hesitate an instant. We drilled like a battleship, and in sixty–five seconds—I timed it as a matter of interest—from my order we fired the first shot. It fell short.
Extraordinary to relate, the torpedo boat, without firing a gun, put her helm hard over, and started to steam away at her full speed, which I suppose was about seventeen knots.
I actually began to chase her—a submarine chasing a torpedo boat! It was ludicrous.
With broad smiles on their faces, my good gun's crew rapidly fired the gun, and we had the satisfaction of striking her once, near her after funnel, but it did no vital damage, as a few minutes afterwards she drew out of range! What a pack of incompetent cowards!
They never fired a shot at us. I suppose half of them were drunk or else in a state of semi–mutiny, for one hears strange tales of affairs in Russia these days.
The whole incident was quite humorous, but I realized that I had hardly been wise, as without doubt the English will hear of this, and these trawlers of theirs will turn up, and I'm certainly not going to try any heroics with John Bull, who is as tough a fighter as we are.
Meanwhile, what of the supply ship, for I'm supposed to meet her here, and it's already twenty–four hours since yesterday's epoch–making battle and I expect the English any moment.
* * * * *
My doubts were removed for me since I received special orders at noon by high–power wireless from Nordreich, and on decoding them found that, for some reason or other, we are ordered to proceed to Muckle Flugga Cape, and thence down the coast of Shetlands to the Fair Island Channel, where we are directed to cruise till further orders. Special warning is included as to encountering friendly submarines.
It appears to me that a special concentration of U–boats is being ordered round about the Orkneys, and that some big scheme is on hand.
We are now steering south–westerly to make Muckle Flugga, which I hope to do in four days' time if the weather holds.
These Northern waters have proved very barren of shipping in the last few weeks, and this fact, coupled with the approaching winter weather, which must be fiendish in these latitudes, makes me quite ready to exchange the Archangel billet for the work round the Orkneys and Shetlands, though this is damnable enough in the winter, in all conscience.
There is only one fly in the ointment, and that is that this premature return to North Sea waters might conceivably mean a visit to Zeebrugge, though this class are not likely to be sent there.
Though it is many weeks since I left Zoe, I have not been able to forget her. I continually wonder what she is doing, and often when I am not on my guard she wanders into my thoughts.
Whilst I am up here, it does not matter much, except that it causes me unhappiness, but if I found myself at Bruges it would be very hard. However, I don't suppose I shall ever see her again.
* * * * *
Sighted Muckle Flugga this morning, and shaped course for Fair Island.
* * * * *
Oh! what a hell I have passed through. I can hardly realize that I am alive, but I am, though whether I shall be to–morrow morning is doubtful—it all depends on the weather, and who would willingly stake their life on North Sea weather at this time of the year?
Curses on the man who sent us to the Fair Island Channel. Where the devil is our Intelligence Service? If we make Flanders I have a story to tell that will open their eyes, blind bats that they are, luxuriating in the comfort of their fat staff jobs ashore.
