The following day was quiet, nothing happened to interrupt the usual
monotony of an ocean voyage, but that night at 9:15 the ship from stem
to stern was thrown into a turmoil of excitement by the firing of a gun
and the terrifying word--"Submarine!" The boat was darkened, not a light
showing, and everyone was rushing from their cabins in a mad state for
life belts, utterly ignoring the rigid command not to leave their
portholes open and expose the lights of the vessel. It was worse than
confusion confounded!
I had been appointed one of provo N.C.O.'s, and my duty was to see that
everybody was supplied with a lifebelt, wear it at all times except when
going to bed, and then they were ordered to have them at hand in case of
emergency. Although some of the people obeyed the instructions to the
letter, even going so far as to sleep in them, many others neglected the
order.
Some idea of the sense of responsibility on the Captain and his crew can
be had when I state that 1400 women and children on board were in his
absolute care and keeping.
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