apparently from nowhere did they come, we were tempted to believe
they rose from the depths of the sea. How thrilled we were to see those
six greyhound terrors of the submarine take position around us--one
ahead, one astern, and two on each beam.

It was now full speed ahead on a zigzag course. We were in the most
deadly submarine infested zone of the ocean. Only yesterday the
Susquehanna had been torpedoed in these very waters, and, no doubt, the
same evil periscopes were watching us now from beyond yonder kopje of a
wave! Our temples throbbed poundingly; our throats grew dry, our eyes
stared straight ahead--the same psychic phenomena we were to note in
ourselves, even more accentuated, later in the trenches. What a prize we
would be--to sink the largest ship afloat, with the greatest human
cargo, 13,000 souls, that ever put to sea!

It was, as it were, an old-time, nerve-racking ninth inning at the White
Sox grounds! A clean single will tie, a double will beat us. Uncle Sam's
Navy is in the box; Von Tirpitz's best sticker is at the bat. Two
strikes have been called. What will the next be?

A sudden hush grips the watching thousands. Here it comes--the batter
swings with terrific force--"Strike three, you're out!" and proudly our
gallant Armada sweeps into the welcoming and sheltering harbor of
Brest!

CHAPTER IV

BREST--ANCEY-LE-FRANC

Vive la France! With all the emotion that must have thrilled the heart
of Lafayette, sailing up the Chesapeake to Washington's assistance at
Yorktown, we gazed on the rugged coast of Brittany. Our convoy alone, if
you will, more than compensated, in point of _number of troops_ at
least, for the 20,000 who wore the fleur-de-lis at the surrender of
Cornwallis. Mere _number_ of troops, however, was not the question--it
was all we then needed. France would, no doubt, have sent us more in
1783, even as we would have sent more to her in the world war, had there
been the need.

Brest was the only harbor along the western France coast with sufficient
depth of water to accommodate the Leviathan; and, inside her breakwater,
on Sunday, August 10, we dropped anchor.

This harbor and city, with a history rich in recorded and traditional
lore, antedated the Christian era. The Phonecian, the Carthaginian, the
Roman, and the Frank, had each, in turn, left upon its sheltering bay
and rock hewn hills the impress of his generation.

Apart and aloof from the beaten paths that lead from