ning in the morning sun, was
passed upward, followed by some other survivors, numbering fourteen in
all, who had been found half-drowned and almost dead from exposure in a
partially wrecked boat that was picked up just as it was sinking. It was
in that boat that one American woman and her daughter died. One of the
survivors of the boat told me the story. He said:

"Our boat was No. 8. It was smashed in the lowering. I was in the bow.
Mrs. Hoy and her daughter were sitting toward the stern. The boat filled
with water rapidly.

"It was no use trying to bail it out. There was a big hole in the side
and it came in too fast. The boat's edge sank to the level of the water
and only the air-tanks kept it afloat.

"It was completely awash. Every swell rode clear over our heads and we
had to hold our breath until we came to the surface again. The cold
water just takes the life out of you.

"We saw the other boats showing their lights and drifting further and
further away from us. We had no lights. And then, towards morning, we
saw the rescuing ship come up into the cluster of other life-boats that
had drifted so far away from us. One by one we saw their lights
disappear as they were taken on board.

"We shouted and screamed and shrieked at the tops of our voices, but
could not attract the attention of any of the other boats or the
rescuing ship, and soon we saw its lights blink out. We were left there
in the darkness with the wind howling and the sea rolling higher every
minute.

"The women got weaker and weaker. Maybe they had been dead for some
time. I don't know, but a wave came and washed both Mrs. Hoy and her
daughter out of the boat. There were life-belts around their bodies and
they drifted away with their arms locked about one another."

With such stories ringing in our ears, with exchanges of experiences
pathetic and humorous, we steamed into Queenstown harbour shortly after
ten o'clock that night. We had been attacked at a point two hundred
miles off the Irish coast and of our passengers and crew, thirteen had
been lost.

As I stepped ashore, a Britisher, a fellow-passenger aboard the
_Laconia_, who knew me as an American, stepped up to me. During the
voyage we had had many conversations concerning the possibility of
America entering the war. Now he slapped me on the back with this
question,

"Well, old Casus Belli," he said, "is this your blooming overt act?"

I did not answer him, but thirty minutes after