Our own gun, however, was soon in action and it plugged away merrily, seemingly giving as good as we received.
The fourth or fifth shell from the submarine landed just short of our vessel's stern. The explosion jerked it upwards and knocked both our gunners off their feet. This was followed by a shrapnel shell which exploded a little higher than our masts in the air above and hissed into the sea all around. The glass in the saloon skylight was splintered to atoms, the din of the constant explosions seemed like hell let loose and the fear of God was located in almost everyone aboard.
It was too much for the rough element—about sixty or more Hebrideans, some of whom spoke little English. They made an ugly rush for the boats, shouting that the ship was doomed and every man must save himself.
Fortunately there happened to be three military officers aboard who had recently returned from the trenches in France. They tried to control the crowd, and acted with a quiet heroism worthy of much praise.
All their efforts, however, were in vain. Men pushed women aside or knocked them over, and fought like beasts of prey for places in the boats.
By the efforts of the mate, who threatened the maddest of the crowd and fought strenuously for some discipline, an extra small boat was launched first, but about half a dozen frantic passengers jumped into her and without waiting for her complement pushed off from the ship. The two other boats left in the davits were filled with a fighting, snarling, swearing mass of individuals, some of whom hacked away with knives and a hatchet at the falls, whilst the great strain in weight put upon the davits bent them down like twisted wire. As the strands of the falls parted, the boats fell into the sea, shipping much water, whilst some of those left aboard jumped into them. Some fell out of the boats, whilst others jumped into the sea and were pulled into them as they left the vessel's side all too dangerously crowded.
It was a revolting sight; a memory that, however hard one may try to forget, must yet forever live; an act unworthy of all form of manliness, which can only remain a lasting shame to those whose selfish cowardice impelled their madness.
With my friend, I stood near the funnel looking on. What could we do? Had we, or had the officers had a revolver, the rush might have been checked, or possibly a life or so might have been sacrificed to try to save others.
The man handling the axe probably might have suffered first. I did attempt one small effort. I approached the fighting mass and tapped a man, who was struggling ineffectually to get through, on the shoulder. When he turned round I asked him why he was forgetting the women and children. The man swore at me, adding, "Women be damned! the boats are the only thing for us." Then I asked him if he had a match. "What for?" he demanded.