With her colors flying, twenty-five minutes after the torpedoes exploded, the _Lincoln_ went down. Three officers and 23 men were lost. Seven working below decks were either killed by the explosion, or drowned by the inrush of water. Sixteen men on a raft alongside were caught by the current and carried under as the ship went down. The officers lost were Passed Assistant Surgeon L. C. Whiteside, the ship's medical officer; Paymaster Andrew Mowat, the supply officer, and Assistant Paymaster J. D. Johnson. Dr. Whiteside and Paymaster Mowat had seen that the men under their charge had gotten away safely, the doctor having attended to placing the sick in the boat provided for them. Paymaster Johnson was on the raft which was pulled down as the ship plunged. Admiral Sims cabled that the "small loss of life is due to thorough discipline of ship's company, and excellent seamanship of Commander Foote." This he said was "evidenced by actual results even after the ship had sunk and the personnel was adrift in boats and on rafts." Admiral Gleaves wrote to Foote: "Your action and judgment under such trying conditions were in accord with the best traditions of the service." Half an hour after the ship went down a large submarine emerged, and went among the boats and rafts, seeking the commander and other senior officers, whom they wished to take prisoners. The Germans could identify only one officer, Lieutenant Edouard Victor M. Isaacs, who was taken on board and carried away. The submarine--it was the U-90,--remained in the vicinity for two hours, and returned again in the afternoon, evidently seeking to attack other vessels of the convoy. But they were far away, having, in accordance with standard instructions to avoid attack, put on all steam and left the scene as soon as the _Lincoln_ was hit. The U-boat was so menacing that some feared it would fire upon the life-craft. When several of the crew went to its gun, apparently preparing it for action, a man in one of the boats exclaimed: "Good night! Here come the fireworks!" By dark the boats and rafts had been lashed together. Lighted lanterns were hoisted and flares and signal lights burned every few minutes. None knew when aid would arrive. Distress signals had been sent out, but the nearest destroyers were 250 miles away, protecting another convoy. Military necessity might prevent their being detached.