One of Fritz's pet stunts was to send us an S.O.S., giving us the exact location at sea of a vessel in trouble--oh, he was awful careful to see that you got it right, all you needed to do was to steam up to that spot and be blown clear out of creation. Of course, all the calls for help weren't false. One day we came close enough to see a cargo ship in flames, and her crew being ordered over her side to open boats. "Burn the cargo and sink the ship," was Fritz's creed and if you think that being set afloat in a life-boat in December is an experience you'll forget in a hurry, you're wrong! By the time we reached the survivors, half of them were dead--frozen where they sat, their bodies covered with ice. We were on duty every minute of the day and night. I don't think any of the crew slept soundly for the seven months that we stayed at sea without ever touching shore. Think of it, seven months on a ship that's never still, zig-zagging, doubling on its own course--charging any floating objects in hopes of downing a Fritz. My, but the troopships were glad to see us when we went out to meet them. We'd shoot up alongside of them, or cut clean across their bow, playing in front of them like a porpoise, as we asked them what sort of a trip they had had across and how things were going back home. We'd come so close to the convoy at times that they could almost reach out and touch us, then we'd dart away at the drop of a hat. As Christmas came near, we hoped to touch port. We had been promised a Christmas ashore, but it seemed we had sudden orders to go out and pick up a convoy, so we headed for the open sea again. [Illustration] Christmas Eve was biting cold. I went up for air and I was glad to hurry back to the engine room again. It was at least warm down there. The men who stood watch on deck were muffled to the eyes. I thought of my wife and the kid. I wondered if he was hanging up his little stocking and saying a prayer for his dad who was at sea. I hadn't heard a word from them, of course, since I had left home. But on that particular night they seemed very close to me. I could almost see our little sitting room, with a holly wreath in the window. I remembered just the corner where we always put up the Christmas tree and I thought of the fun we had trimming it and trying not to make a breath of noise to wake the kid. All this while I realized dimly that the boat was pitching harder than ever and my mate broke in with: "We're in for a gale to celebrate Christmas proper." We were, all right! They say it was the worst storm that had been seen off that coast in many a year. It was the highest sea I've ever been on. You could scarcely keep your feet, and as for food--our Christmas dinner consisted of hard tack and lucky we were to get that. You couldn't keep a thing on the ranges except the stationary kettles. They managed to make something that was supposed to be coffee in those and for twenty-two hours that was our chow.