Shortly after midnight the Hun, with the rest of the men off duty, was awakened by a terrific crash and a tremendous shock that flung most of the sleepers out of their berths. It needed not the bo'sun's shout of "On deck, every mother's son of you!" to clear the fore-peak.
The "Andromeda" had been torpedoed without warning, the explosion tearing a huge rent under her port quarter.
She was foundering rapidly. There was hardly time for the men to pass five of their badly wounded and injured mates into the boats before her rail was awash. Barely had the Old Man leapt into the last boat to get away when the "Andromeda" flung her stern high in the night air and slithered noisily beneath the surface.
Hardly able to realise that their floating home had disappeared from view the men lay on their oars until the master shouted to the chief mate for the boats to keep together.
"We'll be picked up as soon as it's daylight, lads," he added encouragingly. "So tighten your belts and keep a stiff upper lip."
"Submarine dead ahead," shouted several voices when, ten minutes later, a long, low-lying dark shape came into view, silhouetted against the starlit sea.
"Coming to poke Charley at us," muttered the first mate. "Don't give them any lip, lads, or as likely as not they'll throw the whole crowd of us into the ditch."
Carrying little way the U-boat slipped in between the "Andromeda's" boats. An officer and a couple of seamen were standing on the platform surrounding the conning-tower; more men were clustered round the quick-firers.
"What sheep haf we sunk?" demanded a guttural voice.
"The 'Andromeda' of Avonmouth," replied the master.