a foretaste of the torment of the lost.

As a submarine officer of the Imperial German Navy he was a failure.
Only sheer luck had hitherto saved him from the fate that had overtaken
scores of his brother officers in that branch of the service. Skilled
as he was in the handling of a huge liner, he lacked the iron nerve
that is essential to the man who has to risk his life in a steel box
that, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, offers no means of escape
in the event of a catastrophe.

Yet he had to do his duty, notwithstanding his utter distaste for
submarine work. He had had no option. The officers of the British
Navy volunteer for submarine duties; those of the German Navy are
simply told off whether they want to or not.

The nerve-racking work was beginning to tell upon him. His orders
condemned him to a forlorn hope, for the English Channel was known to
be a death-trap for the under-sea blockaders. The sight of a trawler
filled him with feelings akin to terror. The possibility, nay
probability, of a merchantman carrying guns made him approach his
intended prey with the utmost caution; yet, as he had remarked to Ross
Trefusis, he had never torpedoed any vessel flying the red ensign
without giving her warning.

But it was not chivalry that prompted Schwalbe to act with
consideration. Had he been untrammelled he would have sent his prey to
the bottom without compunction, for he had all the brutal instincts of
the kultured Hun. It was a superstitious fear that held his
frightfulness in check--a presentiment based upon the Mosaic Law, an
eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

Having placed a considerable distance between him and his attacker,
Kapitan Schwalbe ordered the electric motors to be stopped. The
ballast tanks were "blown", and cautiously U75 rose to the surface.

It was the best course open to her. The depth of the water was much
too great to allow her to rest on the bed of the sea. On the other
hand, in order to keep submerged, the motors would have to be in
motion. No one knew better than Schwalbe that the British patrol-boats
would be in a position to locate with uncanny certitude the presence of
their quarry, unless the strictest silence were maintained by the
fugitive.

So, ready to dive at the first alarm, U75 floated awash until such
times as were considered favourable for getting under way. Decidedly
this part of the English Channel was, for the time being at least,
unhealthy;