Great Pacific War: A History of the American-Japanese Campaign of 1931-33 by Hector C. Bywater

surface her hull was instantly riddled with shell from the destroyer's guns. The hatch was thrown open, and one man scrambled out, but at that moment more projectiles crashed through the sides of the wounded vessel and with a last convulsive plunge she vanished for ever. The sole survivor, a young seaman, was picked up by one of the destroyers.
    In the meantime S 11 , ignorant of the fate of her consort, had again dived to reload her tubes. Her commanding officer, Lieutenant Hockley, must have known the imminent danger he courted by remaining in the vicinity, now that the Japanese destroyers were racing about in all directions and lynx-eyed watchers in the airplanes overhead were scanning the sea. But doubtless he knew, also, the vital importance of doing as much harm as possible to the invading force before it reached land. Be that as it may, he decided to expend his last four torpedoes before leaving the scene. As his submerged speed was too low to permit him to overtake the uninjured transports, which were now far ahead, steaming for dear life, he turned his attention to the damaged ships. On the first of these he got two hits. Then a depth charge shook the boat so violently that a bad leak was started — or so it was surmised — and she was compelled to come to the surface. She rose rather more than a mile away from the nearest destroyer, and owing to the excitement of the hunt, or more probably to the mist which still partly shrouded the water, she was not immediately observed by her pursuers.
    And now followed what the Japanese themselves acclaimed as one of the most heroic deeds of the war. Had Lieutenant Hockley so desired, he and his men might have surrendered with perfect safety, for the Japanese were chivalrous warriors who would assuredly have treated such doughty foemen with all honour. The submarine was disabled, since it could neither dive nor travel on the surface; but one weapon remained, and with it the chance of striking a last blow at the enemy. There is not the least doubt that Lieutenant Hockley and his crew deliberately elected to seize this chance, which, of course, meant certain death to one and all of them. No sooner, then, did the submarine break surface than the hatches were thrown open, ammunition was handed up from below, and the 4-inch gun opened rapid fire on the nearest transport.
    If those on board the Japanese destroyers were amazed at this unexpected attack, they did not lose their presence of mind. In a flash, two of them had spun round and were charging straight down on the audacious submarine, which lay motionless on the surface, her gun belching forth shell after shell. It took barely two minutes for the Japanese greyhounds to cover the intervening distance, yet in that brief space of time the submarine fired many more rounds from her gun, and even scored a hit on the foremost destroyer. As a display of iron nerve and consummate courage, that of the gunners of S 11 , who continued to work their piece as coolly as though at target practice, while every second brought the onrushing death nearer, has rarely been equalled, never surpassed.
    The only accounts we have of this heroic drama of the sea are from Japanese eye-witnesses, who, however, have done ample justice to it. One of the destroyer officers tells the following story of the last moments of S 11 :
    As we raced on at full speed, the submarine, which up to then had fired at the transport Ilsen Maru, now trained her single gun on us, and let us have two shells, which killed several men. She fired again but missed, and then we were upon her. There were many sailors on deck, including those at the gun, and an officer stood on the conning-tower with his arms folded. They had no idea of surrendering, for a fresh charge was being placed in the gun just as we struck the vessel. Our sharp prow drove deep into the plating just abaft the conning-tower, cutting the submarine almost in two. She sank like a stone, and the momentum of our rush