Several areas in the North Sea were protected by mines, which came from
the torpedo depot ship, H.M.S. _Vernon_. The mines floated several feet
below the surface, being kept in position by means of wires attached to
sinkers.
In my submarine we had encountered very bad weather and were uncertain
of our exact position. The weather got so bad that we were forced to
cruise forty feet below the surface.
Everything was very still in the control room. The only movements were
an occasional turn of the hydroplanes, or a twist at the wheel, at
which sat "Shorty" Harris, a real hard case from Shadwell.
Suddenly we were startled by a scraping sound along the port side.
Before we could put our thoughts into words there came an ominous bump
on the starboard side. _Bump!_ ... _bump!_ ... seven distinct thuds
against the hull. No one moved, and every nerve was taut. Then "Shorty"
broke the tension with, "Good old _Vernon_, another blinkin' dud."--_T.
White, 31 Empress Avenue, Ilford._
Any Time's Kissing Time!
A torpedo-boat destroyer engaged on transport duty in the Channel in
1916 had been cut in two by collision whilst steaming with lights
out. A handful of men on the after-part, which alone remained afloat,
were rescued after several hours by another destroyer, just as the
after-part sank.
[Illustration: "Ain't nobody a-goin' ter kiss me?"]
A howling gale was raging and some of the survivors had to swim for it.
As the first swimmer reached the heaving side of the rescuing ship he
was caught by willing hands and hauled on board.
When he got his breath he stood up and, shaking himself to clear the
water somewhat from his dripping clothes, looked around with a smile
at the "hands" near by and said: "Well, ain't nobody a-goin' ter kiss
me?"--_J. W., Bromley, Kent._