The _Pamir_, loaded with about three thousand five hundred tons, was down into the trough of the sea like a lump of lead and couldn’t make more than seven knots doing her damnedest. The Boche shot through the water like a fish. They must have closed her hatches and, of course, she didn’t mind the waves breaking over her, being built to navigate with water on all sides. She must have gained three or four knots on us, for after giving chase for three-quarters of an hour, she was only a thousand yards away. We saw her slow up a bit and open the hatches and the gunners came to fire from the deck! The first two shots fell twenty yards short and fifty too far. Fourgues said to himself that the third was going to hit and he put the helm hard aport so that we should rot up their aim. Just at that moment a hollow sea came along and shook us from stem to stern. Everything stowed on the deck began to slide and fouled the port tiller-rope, which jammed. Steering became impossible. The _Pamir_ kept turning around to port, only she couldn’t turn fast on account of the heavy seas, but the submarine doubtless believed that it was in order to run her down that we headed that way, so the Boche gunners scrambled through the hatches and shut them and they submerged on the spot. After that, not a thing to be seen! While our crew was hauling the packing cases around on the deck, trying to clear the tiller-rope, the _Pamir_ went round and round like a horse working a merry-go-round, and rolled and pitched without stopping. Then the submarine must have come nearer, for we saw the wakes of two torpedoes, one forward at about thirty yards and another which missed us aft. The second was well aimed and came straight at us. We could move neither hand nor foot, nor do anything but make the sign of the Cross and think of our families. But this torpedo couldn’t have been set to go very deep. As the _Pamir_ is not armoured, a hole at the water-line would be enough to finish her. Well, the torpedo got caught in the trough of a wave which made it leap into the air like a carp about a hundred yards from us and fall back into the water at right angles to its course. It passed behind us and we all breathed again. The Boche must have been disgusted at losing two torpedoes and nearly fifty shells in one hour on a boat that steered like a cork. She came to the surface again at two or three thousand yards without sending us anything more and hooked it towards another ship coming from the west, the _Worthminster_, a big English tramp loaded with munitions, which had put in at Marseilles and had left the same hour as we, but which had fallen behind so that we lost sight of her the night before. I believe the _Worthminster_ went down. Salonica was her destination and she didn’t arrive there. We asked for news, but mum’s the word everywhere, and when the moon is made of green cheese we shall know, perhaps, if our mates of the _Worthminster_ are feeding the crabs.