Gee, we certainly longed to get off the boat. There was land only a hand's throw away--and there was a whole diamond going to waste and games tied. One afternoon, after talking the matter over, we plucked up courage and drew lots. It fell on me to go up to the Officer of the Deck and ask for a Recreation Party. I did. He didn't waste any breath at all. "No," he said, so I slunk back to my mates. But we didn't let the matter rest. Every ten minutes another one of us would march up with the same request. The O. D. got sore. Ole was on watch. "Pass the word," the O. D. commanded crisply, "_No Recreation Party whatsoever!_" Ole did. "_No Recreation Party what's er matter?_" he hollered. That finished him. He lost a rank on account of it. Poor Ole, he got in dutch for fair! We were convoying merchant and troop ships, going out to meet them and bringing them back to port. We started out one cold October day with a raging gale blowing. The sea was like a seething caldron--the waves were mountain high. We had on all the warm things we owned, but, at that, we were ice wherever the water struck us. I was muffled to the eyes. Esquimos had nothing on me and I could see we were in for some stiff duty. It wasn't a matter of one day--it was a matter of eight days on a raging sea--no chance to take off your socks even--life-preservers on every minute of the time--watching out sharp for Fritz. A flock of us met the ships we were to bring in and we started to steam back to our base, when we had the shock of our lives! It was early morning, barely light. The sky was a gray line, as if you took a paint brush and slapped a streak from east to west. The water was gray and we men on the bridge rubbed our eyes, for right in front of us, not five hundred away--standing out black against the sky--was a German submarine. We figured she had laid there all night--and was going to send our flagship to the bottom if she could--but she couldn't have looked over her shoulder, because she didn't seem to know we were there. Well, we were after her like a streak of greased lightning. That was just what we had been praying for; as we charged her we fired; we were almost on top of her, trying to ram her, when she submerged; we passed right over her as she went down; you could see the bubbles and spray. Then we launched our depth charges--"ash cans," as we call them. They look like a ten-gallon drum. You set them off when you are traveling full speed right above your blooming submarine--fifteen knots we were making. Quick! Say, it's the speediest work in the world, because, once your charges are dropped, you have to beat it or get blown up yourself--as it is you can feel the explosion for yards around. Well, we dropped four--and got out of the way. As for the sub . . . zowy! Up she came to the surface, ripped wide open. Then she stood up on her end and sank as if somebody had pulled her down by the tail.