The Count was a kapitan-leutnant of the unterseebooten service, and held a staff appointment at the newly-constructed German base at Zeebrugge. The post was given him as a reward for his zealous services to the All-Highest having claim to the destruction of 60,000 tons of Allied mercantile shipping. Most of his victims he sank without warning, and in several instances without leaving a trace, while his despicable act of torpedoing the hospital ship _Bentali_ on a dark night and in a very heavy sea was the crowning act of a long list of piratical outrages. While every other country regarded the act with every expression of horror, kultured Germany hailed the deed with acclamation. It showed the thoroughness of Teutonic frightfulness: that Germany meant business. Count Otto received the Iron Cross with swords, and the Ordre pour le Mérite. Nevertheless he deemed it advisable for his health's sake to give up active submarine work, and become permanently attached to the Zeebrugge station for shore duties. Unfortunately for him, he had a slight difference with the naval governor of the modern pirate base, and the latter revenged himself by ordering von Brockdorff-Giespert to sea in U 292--not in actual command, but as adviser to the proper kapitan-leutnant, a swash-buckling Prussian, of the name of von Bohme. U 292 was on her trials when the end came with dramatic suddenness. Von Bohme had no intention of attacking until he had thoroughly tested the sea-going and manoeuvring capabilities of his new command; but the temptation of sinking one of the convoy of merchantmen was too strong. Von Brockdorff-Giespert's mental and physical activities were completely suspended for a period of twelve minutes following the sudden destruction of U 292. At the time of the catastrophe he was standing in the compartment immediately under the base of the conning-tower. On the impact of the British shell he formed the hasty but correct impression that the strafed Englander had scored. He attempted to gain the open air by means of the conning-tower hatchway, but the water-tight lid in the floor was immovably shut and secured. Water was pouring in through the started rivet-holes and buckling plates. Below, the nerve-racked Germans were rushing to-and-fro in blind panic, colliding with each other in the dark, confined space, for the impact of the shell had put the electric-lighting dynamos out of action. It was not too much to say that von Brockdorff-Giespert was seized by the contaminating panic. He was no longer a kapitan-leutnant of the submarine staff, but a mere Hun struggling fiercely for life in a wholehearted, selfish desire to avoid a death to which thousands of his fellow-Huns had been condemned under similar circumstances.