There was no need for one of the crew who had taken part in the South African War to cry out that a shell was coming. Every one on board knew what that sound meant. Following a not unnatural curiosity, every man rushed to the taffrails, to see what would be the result. There was a loud, and almost unanimous, shout of "There she goes!" as the shell plunged into the water about two hundred yards from the starboard side of the ship, sending a great savage fountain high into the air.
By then, the "Harlech" was steaming almost due south. Her course had been changed at daybreak, when the "Dresden" had been sighted immediately ahead. The first shell, which was marvellously accurate as far as direction was concerned, must have passed immediately over the mast-head of the merchant ship.
This augured ill for the remainder of the day. There seemed little or no chance that the "Harlech" would escape, though she burnt every ton of coal she carried in her bunkers. The British destroyer had gone due north. Nowhere else, except in the direction of the "Dresden," was there a ship in sight. The "Harlech"--as we have already pointed out--was not equipped with wireless, and had no means of calling for assistance.
For the next two hours, the utmost confusion and consternation prevailed on board. A shell struck the forecastle-peak, and tore away a great piece of the ship, as a bull-dog might rend the clothes of a tramp. Another broke its way through the superstructure under the bridge; and a third, fourth and fifth, pierced the ship's sides above the water-line.
Throughout all this, Captain Crouch remained perfectly calm and collected, from time to time taking his pipe from his mouth to knock out the ash on the heel of his boot, refill it and light it with the utmost care. The "Dresden" was now well in sight, bearing straight down upon them, as a tiger might rush upon its prey. It seemed, indeed, that they were doomed.
It was about mid-day when the German cruiser signalled to them to surrender; and though there could be no question that a refusal would lead to the destruction of them all, Crouch flatly refused to acknowledge that the game was up. His only answer was to hoist the Union Jack to the mast-head and run up the Red Ensign on the poop.