"Steady! I'm coming."
He grabbed the oar and lay across it, a dead weight. Someone else pulled me down.
"Help!"
It was little Tucker, mess attendant, a kid of seventeen. He was all in. I shoved them both along, and they were heavy, let me tell you. Someone in the boat saw us and drew alongside. They lifted us in.
"Where's McCaffrey?" I asked them.
Just then I saw him. He was swimming straight for us. I let out a yell, but it died in my throat.
Straight out of the water, not twenty yards away, rose the gray bulk of the submarine, its greenish light casting a weird glow over that awful scene of struggling men. Fritz's war-baby had come back to gloat over the damage it had done.
Our captain, with his pocket light, was flashing the Morse code on the water as he floundered about.
From the deck of the submarine the commander's voice rang out. He spoke as good English as I do.