Then 'hell broke loose.' Firing every gun
available, the big ship swung on a wide circle out of line to the left.
A smaller war-ship slipped into the place of the big fighter, driving
shells into the sea. Whether any landed or not may not be said. The
Germans fired three, if not four, torpedoes. It was God's mercy that
they all went astray among so many of our ships. The whole business
lasted only a minute and a half. I know, because one of those Easterners
from somewhere up in Maine coolly timed the mix-up with his stop-watch.
But believe me, it added more than that time to my life. The second
attack occurred next morning. Every living soul on the transports had
been thrilled by the news of the night's events, and from early hours
the decks were lined with amateur lookouts. The morning was fine, and a
light breeze rippled up wavelets that twinkled in the sunlight. Suddenly
about 10.30 o'clock there came a wild yell from one of the leading
transports. Though the jackies affect to dispute it, I was assured that
it was from a far-sighted youngster from Arizona, who first descried and
then announced the deadly line of bubbles. No periscope was visible this
time, and for the first moment those on the bridges of the destroyers
were incredulous. Then the unmistakable bubble lines clean across the
bows put the certainty of danger beyond question. Once again fortune
favored us. The submarine was in front instead of in the deadliest
position on the flank toward the rear.
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