each fine fellow, down in the machinery room or at the torpedo tubes,
had done his very best, and that all his thoughts were centered like
mine in keen expectancy on the firing of our first torpedo--the eel as
we call it, guarded with so much love and care--which would speed
along accompanied by our warmest wishes. We give nicknames to our
torpedoes, mostly feminine names: side by side below lie "the fat
Bertha," "the yellow Mary," and "the shining Emma," and these ladies
expected to be treated, like all ladies, with the tenderest care and
courtesy.

Now comes the announcement from the torpedo officer, "The torpedoes
are cleared for firing." He stands with a firm hand awaiting the
signal from his commander to permit the torpedo to drive ahead against
the hated, but unconscious adversary, and to bore its way with a loud
report deep into the great steel flank.

Once again the periscope springs for an instant to the surface and
then glides back into the protecting body of the turret. The captain
exclaims, "We are at them!" and the news spreads like wildfire through
the crew. He gives a last rapid order to straighten the course of the
boat. The torpedo officer announces, "Torpedo ready"--and the captain,
after one quick glance through the periscope, as it slides back into
its sheath, immediately shouts, "Fire!"

Even without the prescribed announcement from the torpedo officer that
the torpedo had been set off, every one knows that it is speeding
ahead, and for a few seconds we remain in anxious suspense, until a
dull report provokes throughout our boat loud cheers for Kaiser and
for Empire, and by this report we know that "the fat Bertha" has
reached unhindered her destination. Radiant with joy, the commander
breathes a sigh of relief, and he does not check the young sailor at
the wheel, who seeks to grasp his hand and murmur his fervent
congratulations. But congratulations must be postponed until we
ascertain that our success is complete.

And once again the periscope runs up towards the laughing daylight,
while the commander in happy but earnest tones utters the reassuring
words, "The ship is sinking, further torpedoes can be spared." He then
permits the gratified torpedo officer, who stands by his side, a quick
glance through the periscope to verify the result of his own
efficiency. It is chiefly owing to the care of the personnel of the
torpedo squad, that the torpedoes are maintained in such perfect
condition an