Over the Seas for Uncle Sam. Various
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queer to be in mid-ocean on the night before the Declaration of Independence was signed—yep, in the middle of a blooming black sea, with nothing in sight but a dash of white foam against your keel, where you cut along through a swell.
I'd just glanced at my radium watch and blessed the girl who gave it to me. It was nine. I glanced up. Not fifty yards away was a ribbon of white foam flung out on the water like a scarf, and, sticking straight out, by God, was the periscope of a German submarine.
No one waited for the command, "Fire when ready. … "
The ship was action electrified. I never saw a crew work like that. They fired point-blank and sent that periscope straight up to where all good periscopes go. Ripped her clean off.
We weren't sure we'd sunk her, but we figured we had. How did we feel? How do you think? That was celebrating the Fourth right and proper!
Mac, sweating like a horse, panting from excitement, managed to breeze by and chuckle.
"Didn't I tell you we'd shoot one off to show 'em who's who?"
It was a great night. We were heroes. We had knocked the stuffings out of a periscope; it stood to reason we'd sunk her.
We figured out how it happened. The submarine, when she was 'way out on the horizon line, must have seen us coming. She had evidently made a long detour, plotting our course and planning to arrive where she could take good aim and fire. What happened was that we changed our course, so that when she popped up she was plumb across our bow. Surprised! Wow! I bet her commander, if he's alive, hasn't closed his mouth yet!
It was something like this:
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.
I didn't think of home. I didn't think of my past sins. I just thought with every ounce of my strength that if I could keep swimming for a few seconds more I could be clear of that undertow. I made it.
All around me men were calling for help. I made out a life-boat a few yards away and hollered to them, and just then an oar floated by.
I never was so glad to see anything in my life. I rested on it and caught another. Two oars! Why, it was as good as a raft. I was safe—if only I could find McCaffrey in that black hell.
I yelled his name and heard a sputter behind me.
"For God's sake, save me——"
"Can't you swim?"
"No."
"Stay where you are; I'll get you."
It was Spick, one of the oilers—a big chap, weighing a good one-ninety.
"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.
"What ship have I hit?"
Someone told him.
"Where is your captain?"
Silence.
"Where is your captain?"
Then it was that little Tucker, sitting forward, tense, leaned far out and yelled:
"Douse yer glim, Cap, douse yer glim. … "
Out it went. The commander gave an order. We couldn't hear it, but we were afraid he meant to make straight for us and cut us in two. We pulled away, but, instead, he was wishing us the best of luck to lie there and rot, and then they submerged—just vanished into the black water from which they had appeared.
We waited trembling, but nothing happened. There wasn't a boat in sight. The old hulk of our ship had gone down forever. I thought of the Captain and of McCaffrey.
"Let's get 'em now, mates," I urged. But from the direction in which we'd last heard them there came no sound. They weren't there. Nobody was. So we pulled away.
It was a leaky boat and we stripped off our shirts—anything we had on that was white, so that in case Fritz came back he could not sight us. We needed the shirts, all right, to stuff up the holes in the boat. Those who weren't stopping up the holes took turns bailing. We bailed like fiends—no time to think—no time for anything but to hope a convoy would pick us up.
Along toward dawn, at six-thirty to be exact, our own convoy sighted us. The boys were pretty stiff from exposure, but I was all right—all right and fighting mad—my matey had gone down.
"I'll get that Kaiser," I told them. And I will, too. That's why I'm shipping on a destroyer next. I'll get that Kaiser, see if I don't.
CHIEF PETTY OFFICER WILSON
SPEAKS:
WAR CLOUDS GATHER