There were moments through that long night when I thought we'd turn clean over. We never expected the rudder to hold with those giant waves breaking over the deck and turning everything to ice. All the submarines afloat didn't give me the feeling of nearness to death that that storm had. I certainly was glad when the sea quieted down and the sun struggled through the clouds again. Up to the first of the year we had not had a chance to get a shot at Fritz. He had been a bit too wily for us, getting in his dirty work before we arrived on the spot, leaving a trail of burning or sinking ships but no sign of himself. But we got our revenge. It was in January. We had met a string of troop and cargo ships from the States, which we were escorting to port. We were so near the coast that I guess most of the boys aboard were getting their things together preparatory to landing. It was eight o'clock in the morning and I don't suppose any of us really dreamed of a submarine turning up so close to shore, when suddenly the shrill whistle from a transport made the air around it blue with its noise! A second later came the roar of guns and I knew sure enough that some tin fish had welcomed us! I stood by in the engine room, which was my place in time of danger, listening with all my ears to the boom of our own guns. Oh, we were after Fritz all right! The rumor drifted in to us that there were ten periscopes to be seen, but soon it came down to three. The guns from all the ships thundered--it was as if a battlefield were transported to the Atlantic Ocean. The roar of guns deafened you, but you certainly got a thrill you never forgot. We worked like fiends. We knew they needed speed as never before. We were like cats after a mouse. Someone sent up a shout and word came that oil had begun to show on the water--that meant one less submarine afloat! Again the roar of guns--again the shout! Two Fritzes sunk. . . ! In the midst of the firing came a strange new sound--a buzzing overhead. French airships to the rescue! They were not more than two hundred yards above us, dropping bombs as they flew. I listened for the sound of cheering--it came! A third Fritz sunk. In port the sinking was officially verified--three German submarines destroyed, read the record. Not bad, eh? I don't believe a gun on any of the transports or destroyers was cold for fully two hours. When it was over, I went on deck for a breath of air. I was sweating like a horse and shaking all over from the strain. The instant I stepped on deck, Fritz got a shot at us, splintering our deck and taking one of my fingers along as a souvenir.