The maiden voyage of the X-111 was ill-fated from the first. Perhaps the new inventions had not yet been perfected, or perhaps, in the haste of wartime, adequate tests had not been made; at any rate, the vessel developed mechanical troubles after her first half day at sea. To begin with, the rudder and steering apparatus proved unmanageable; then, after hours spent in making repairs, the engines showed a tendency to balk under the tremendous speed we were ordered to maintain; and finally, when we had about solved the engine problem, we had the misfortune to collide with a half-submerged derelict, while running on the surface, and one of our water-tight compartments sprang a leak. Immediately following the accident, we had risen to the surface, for the break was about on a level with our waterline, and the compartment could not be completely flooded so long as we did not submerge. Yet Captain Gavison warned us not to waste a moment, and the men worked with desperate speed to repair the damage, for we knew that we were in the zone of the German U-boat, and that any delay might prove perilous, if not fatal. Unfortunately, the sea was unusually calm and the day was blue and clear, so that even our low-lying hulk could be sighted many miles across the waters. I do not know precisely at what position we were then stationed, except that it was somewhere in the Eastern Atlantic, and at a point where, according to the warnings of our Secret Service, a concentration of German submarines was to be expected. At any other time we would have welcomed the opportunity to come to grips with the foe; but now, in our disabled condition, we kept a lookout with grave misgivings, and silently prayed that the damage might be repaired before the enemy slunk into view. Yet it was slow work to man the pumps and at the same time to weld a strip of metal across the jagged gap in our side; and hours passed while we stood there working thigh-deep in water, our heads bent low, for there was but two or three feet of breathing space beneath the curved iron ceiling. Suppressed growls and curses came from our lips each time a sudden surge of the waters interfered with the welding. Meanwhile all was in confusion; the men worked with the feverish inefficiency of terror, scarcely heeding the orders of the officers; the chief contents of the compartment floated about almost unnoted. I distinctly remember that several articles, including a life preserver which one of the recruits had unfastened in his fright, were washed overboard. Still, we did make some progress, and after four or five hours, and just as the blood-red sun was sinking low in the west, we found our task nearing completion. A few more minutes, and the welding would be accomplished; a few more minutes, and darkness would be upon us, leaving us free from fear of attack for the next eight or ten hours.