I scanned the sea in all directions and saw nothing but the dark waters. “Where is it?” I inquired.
“There’s one on each side of us,” said Young America. “They’re about twenty miles from the ship.”
“I should think,” said somebody, “that a very slender submarine might slip in between our side kicks and us and do its regular job.”
“No chance,” the youth replied. “The convoy boats are used as decoys. The sub would see them first and spend all its ammunition.”
A little later he confided in me that the new American war-ships were two hundred and forty-five thousand horsepower. I had no idea there were that many horses left to measure by.
We spotted a shooting star. “That was a big one,” I said.
“Big! Do you know the actual size of those things? I got it straight from a professor of astronomy. Listen. They’re as small as a grain of sand.”
“Why do they look so big?”
“Because they’re so far away and they travel so fast.”
Round ten o’clock, beckoning lights ashore told us we were close to safety. But the French gunners remained at their posts two hours longer. The captain’s shouted order, relieving them from duty, was music to our ears.