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"We are being shelled," said the radio; latitude and longitude followed,
as did the name of the ship, _J. L. Luckenbach_. One of us knew her; an
S O S signals were no rare thing in those waters, but even so they were
Pretty soon it came, a signal from the senior officer of our group. The
The skipper's first act was to shake up the second watch-officer, who
him the word to speed the ship up to twenty-five knots. We were steaming
at the head of the convoy column at eighteen knots at the time. The
was just then taking a little nap on the port ward-room transom with his
clothes and sea-boots still on. The active messenger shook him up too.
The two officers made the deck together, one buttoning his blouse over a
Word was sent to the _Luckenbach_ that we were on the way. Within three
minutes the radio came back: "Our steam is cut off. How soon can you get
here?"
Up through the speaking-tube came a voice just then to say that we were
making twenty-five knots. At the same moment our executive officer, who
with the course and distance to the _Luckenbach_, saying: "That was at
nine-fifteen."
It was then nine-seventeen. Down the tube to the engine-room went the
order to make what speed she could. Also the skipper said: "She ought to
be tearing off twenty-eight soon as she warms up. And she's how far now?
Eighty-two miles? Send this radio: 'Stick to it--will be with you within
three hours.'"
By this time all hands had an idea of what was doing and all began to
brighten up. Men off watch, supposed to be asleep in their cots below,
began to stroll up and have a look around decks. Some lingered near the
wireless door, and every time the messenger passed they sort of stuck
their ears up at him. He was a long-legged lad in rubber boots who took
the deck in big strides. His lips never opened, but his eyes talked. The
There was a little steel shelter built on to the chart house to port. It
was for the protection of the forward gun crew, who had to be ready for
action at any minute. Men standing by for action and not getting it
their spare energy in arguing. It did not matter what the argument was
the crew could hear them--threatening to bust each other's eyes out--clear
to the skid deck sometimes. But now all quiet here, and soon they were
edging out of their igloo and calling down to the fellows on the main
deck: "That right about a ship being shelled by a sub? Yes. Well!" They
Ship's cooks, who rarely wander far from their cosey galley stoves,
leaning as far out as they could and not fall overboard, had long looks
ahead. And then they all turned to see what 352's smoke-stacks were
The black smoke was getting blacker and heavier. They were sure feeding
the oil to her. The chief came up the engine-room ladder. An old petty
officer waylaid him. Doing well, was she, sir?--She was. Hem! About how
Twenty-eight and picking up? And the best she showed in her builders'
trial was twenty-nine-one! What d'y' know about her? Some little old
packet, hah?
It was a fine day, the one fine day of the trip, a rarely fine day for
this part of the northern ocean at this time of year. It was cloudy, but
it was calm. There was a long, easy swell on, but no sea to make her
dive or pitch. The swell, when she got going in good shape, set her to
swinging a little, but that did not hurt. A destroyer just naturally