a ship's life-boat, half
full of water; lying in the water, rolling slowly from side to side as
the boat rocked in their wash, were five dead men. A sixth sat huddled
at the tiller, staring over the quarter with unseeing eyes, frozen
stiff....

Von Sperrgebiet caught a glimpse of the ship's name on the bows of the
boat: it happened to be that of a neutral ship he had torpedoed at the
beginning of the previous week during a gale.

The German Admiralty Orders of that period contained a clause to the
effect that ships were not to be torpedoed without ensuring the
adequate safety of the crew. Which meant that those who had not been
killed by the explosion of the torpedo could be allowed to launch a
boat (weather permitting) and get into it if they had time before the
ship sank....

Von Sperrgebiet had given orders for the boat to be sunk by gunfire,
but somehow the memory of that stark figure at the helm persisted. Try
as he would, he failed to banish from his mind the staring, sightless
eyes and grey, famished face....

Altogether it was an unpleasant business. Other memories of this
nature came and went with the smoke from his cigarette. For some
reason or other he found himself wondering whether, after all, a
Belgian Relief Steamer could have been considered fair game. But he
did so hate the word "Belgium," and there was always the theory of a
mine to account for the incident.... He torpedoed her by moonlight: a
very creditable shot, all things considered.

Another moonlight picture presented itself. A boat-load of terrorised
Finns rising and falling on the swell alongside the Submarine, and,
half a mile away, an abandoned sailing ship with every rope and spar
standing out black against the moonlight. In the stern of the boat
stood a mighty Norwegian with a red beard and a voice like a bull. One
of his arms rested protectingly round a woman's shoulders, and he shook
a knotted fist in von Sperrgebiet's face as his ship blew up and sank.

The woman seen thus in the pale moonlight was young and pretty, and the
red-bearded man bellowed that she was his wife. The announcement was
not an unfamiliar one to Oberleutnant von Sperrgebiet: they usually
were young and pretty when he heard that hot rage in a man's voice.
Oberleutnant von Sperrgebiet made himself scarce forthwith, it might be
almost said, from force of habit....

The glass was falling, and it was in mid-Atlantic that they left that
boat. It blew a