went up and got to business, which meant firing at our destroyer, and,
I think, keeping out of the light of a friend's torpedoes.

The attack and everything connected with it is solely the commander's
affair. He is the only one who gets any fun at all--since he is the
eye, the brain, and the hand of the whole--this single figure at the
periscope. The second in command heaves sighs, and prays that the
dummy torpedo (there is less trouble about the live ones) will go off
all right, or he'll be told about it. The others wait and follow the
quick run of orders. It is, if not a convention, a fairly established
custom that the commander shall inferentially give his world some idea
of what is going on. At least, I only heard of one man who says
nothing whatever, and doesn't even wriggle his shoulders when he is on
the sight. The others soliloquise, etc., according to their
temperament; and the periscope is as revealing as golf.

Submarines nowadays are expected to look out for themselves more than
at the old practices, when the destroyers walked circumspectly. We
dived and circulated under water for a while, and then rose for a
sight--something like this: "Up a little--up! Up still! Where the
deuce has he got to--Ah! (Half a dozen orders as to helm and depth of
descent, and a pause broken by a drumming noise somewhere above, which
increases and passes away.) That's better! Up again! (This refers to
the periscope.) Yes. Ah! No, we _don't_ think! All right! Keep her
_down_, damn it! Umm! That ought to be nineteen knots.... Dirty trick!
He's changing speed. No, he isn't. _He's_ all right. Ready forward
there! (A valve sputters and drips, the torpedo-men crouch over their
tubes and nod to themselves. _Their_ faces have changed now.) He
hasn't spotted us yet. We'll ju-ust--(more helm and depth orders, but
specially helm)--'Wish we were working a beam-tube. Ne'er mind! Up! (A