Well, we pretty well patted ourselves on the back, but German submarines must travel in pairs, like rattlesnakes, or else she came back to life, for an hour later she struck us amidships.
You know it when you're struck. Rather! The crash—the roar—the tremendous vibration—for a full minute, as the big hulk trembles and shudders—the hiss of water rushing into the boilers, the steam gushing, the sudden listing, and, worst of all, the throb of the engines silenced. . . .
You never forget that silence, felt rather than heard. It means you're a goner for fair. Above all the orders, rapped out like the clip of a hammer on steel—that noisy silence sounds loudest in your ears.
"Stand by your guns. . . ." Sure we did. While there was still a chance we wanted to get a whack at that sub., but all the time I was worrying about Mac. He was taking a watch off. Could I reach him?
". . . Get back, you damned fools. . . ."
". . . Man the life-boats!"
". . . Gee, that's a close one! Look spry or you'll wash overboard. . . ."
We didn't leave our post until the last life-boat swung clear and landed with her crew. A couple of boats had been smashed against the side of the ship and we heard the yells of their crew—nasty sound, that.
I forgot about my life-belt—I wanted to find Mac. I couldn't. It was pitch black. The water was waist deep and washing over you in gigantic waves. There was only one chance—to jump for it. I took it. I landed near the propellers. I could hear them churning fiercely—I could feel their suction drawing me to them. I guess I fought like a fiend. I'd heard about the death men die drawn into that blasted hole the ship makes when she goes down to Davy Jones.