“Nothing left for us to do. A shell from one of the guns engaged hit the pest under water and poured oil on the troubled waters.”
In the meantime, the endangered transport, which had promptly and intelligently obeyed the steering order, had barely escaped the torpedo fired at her.
Spirits now ran high in the troopship fleet. Uncle Sam’s soldiers had seen the threatened ships saved, and had also seen Uncle Sam’s sailors show how easily a submarine may be fought—sometimes.
After that the fleet proceeded on its uninterrupted way for so long a time that the noon meal had been eaten calmly by the voyaging soldiers. Few of them thought it worth while to cut that meal short in order to go on deck again.
Especially did Pete and his friends feel indifferent to the best that the Huns could do out here on the water. Just then there came a terrific shock. It was an explosion, followed by a crash that caused the ship to stagger over to starboard, though she quickly righted herself.
“They’ve got us!” yelled Pete, jumping up from the table, overturning his coffee and starting for the upper deck on a run.
Then, ashamed of his nervousness, Pete stopped running and tuned down to a slow walk toward the companionway stairs from the mess deck. Others were running, with a resulting jam on the stairs.
“What are we going to do?” one soldier asked Pete.
“Do the same thing that we’ve been doing ever since we came into the Service, I guess,” drawled Pete. “And that is, we’re going to listen and obey orders. Stop shoving, you fellows. We won’t get up any faster for crowding.”
Soon staff and line officers appeared at the head of the stairs, issuing sharp, steady commands that stopped all signs of a possible panic.