A terrific detonation, almost instantly followed by an enormous column of water, interrupted the signalman's remarks anent the after quick-firer's gun's crew. The _Bolero_ seemed to be lifted clean out of the water; then she listed heavily to starboard. Clouds of flame-tinged smoke, mingled with hissing jets of steam, were issuing from the engine-room. "Fritz has bagged us, my festive!" remarked Trevannion, when the two officers recovered their senses, of which the sudden explosion had temporarily deprived them. "A fair deal: we've nothing to complain about. See that our involuntary guest, Count Otto What's-his-name, is not overboard." The Lieutenant-Commander spoke with the admiration of a true sportsman. For once a U-boat had fulfilled her legitimate purpose by torpedoing a warship. The destroyer had taken the risk, and she had fallen a victim to the powerful Schwartz-Kopff torpedo. It was apparent to every man on board that the _Bolero_ was doomed. The German torpedo-boat had acted the part of a decoy, and had lured the British destroyer athwart the track of a lurking unterseeboot. At a range of three hundred metres the kapitan-leutnant of the U-boat felt sure of his prey; so much so that he decided that one torpedo was enough. Hit abaft the boiler-room, the _Bolero_ was practically broken in twain. Her watertight bulkheads were holding, but had been badly strained. Even at the most sanguine estimate it was doubtful whether the bow and stern portions would be able to keep afloat for more than twenty minutes. Meanwhile there was much to be done. While the signalmen were sending up rockets and firing Verey lights--for the concussion had put the wireless completely out of action--the task of getting away boats and rafts was proceeded with. The wounded were first lifted into the boats, for the explosion had taken heavy toll of the heroes of the engine-room and stokeholds. Already the Lieutenant-Commander had thrown overboard the confidential signal-books and log. Impassively he stood upon the bridge, awaiting the end. His duty was almost done. By virtue of the glorious and imperishable traditions of the British Navy he stood at his post until the last man was clear of the sinking ship. Deftly, and without the faintest suspicion of panic, the crew took to the boats and rafts. The survivors of the engine-room staff, coming straight from the heated and confined space below, were ill-conditioned to withstand the bitter coldness of the night. Lightly-clad they stuck it, accepting with grimly-expressed thanks the offers of additional clothing from their better-clad messmates.