An immigrant girl who followed me flung herself down wildly and broke
both her legs on the side of the ship.
We were powerless to save any more. The ship might at any moment
receive the final torpedo from the submarine. The sailors rowed madly
to get out of danger.
Then the torpedo was discharged. It whizzed across the ship, drawing
a tail behind it like a comet. It plunged beneath the _Ancona_ as
if guided by a diabolical intelligence of its own. There followed
a terrific explosion. Huge jets of thick black smoke shot up, with
showers of débris. Our boat rocked and swayed in the roughened
water. The _Ancona_ lurched to the left, righted herself, shivered
a moment--then her bow shot high in the air like a struggling,
death-stricken animal. She went under, drawing a huge, funnel-like
vortex after her.
The Captain and some officers were the last to drop astern, in a small
boat. Passengers were still to be seen, clinging forward, like ants on
driftwood, as the ship was drawn down. There were many people wounded,
so that they could not get off unaided. They were left to die.
The sea now looked absolutely empty, swept smooth. The ship had drawn
everything down with it. The fog undulating upward, the submarine was
seen lying in full view, as if in quiet Teutonic contemplation of what
it had done. Then it moved off, and was soon merged into the waste of
sea and fog. We felt a great relief when it had departed.