The fleet was nearing the submarine-zone and it was time for the convoying destroyers to arrive.  Everybody was peering out ahead, and at last a cry ran along the decks:  “There they are!” Jimmie made out a speck of smoke upon the horizon, and saw it turn into a group of swiftly-flying vessels.  He marvelled at the skill whereby they had been able to find the transports on this vast and trackless sea; he marvelled at the slender vessels with their four low, rakish stacks.  These sea-terriers were thin skins of steel, covering engines of enormous power; they tore through the water, literally with the speed of an express train, leaving a boiling white wake behind.  Seeing them rock and swing from side to side in the waves, hurled this way and that, you marvelled that human beings could live in them and not be jerked to pieces.  Jimmie never tired of observing them, nor did they tire of racing in and out between the vessels of the convoy, weaving patterns of foam, the men on their decks watching, watching for the secret foe.

Everyone on board the transports, of course, was on the alert.  Jimmie in his secret heart was scared stiff, but he did not reveal it to these mocking soldier-boys, who made merry over German U-boats as they did over sauerkraut and pretzels and Limburger and “wienies”, otherwise known as “hot dogs”.  Actually, Jimmie found, they were hoping to encounter a submarine; not to be hit, of course, but to have the torpedo pass within a foot or two, so that they might have something thrilling to write to the folks at home.

There came storms, and blinding sheets of rain across the water, and mists that hid everything from view; but still the little sea-terriers dashed here and there, winding their foam wakes about the fleet, by night as well as by day.  How they managed to avoid collisions in the dark was a mystery beyond imagining; Jimmie lay awake, picturing one of them plunging like a sharp spear into the rows of bunks in the steerage where he had been stowed.  But when morning dawned, his berth was unspeared, and the watch-dogs of the sea were still weaving their patterns.

It was a day of high wind, with clouds and fitful bursts of sunshine in which the waves shone white and sparkling.  Jimmie was standing by the fail with his “wobbly” friend, watching the white-caps, when his companion called his attention to a sparkle that seemed to persist, hitting one in the eye.  They pointed it out to others, and as the orders were strict to report anything out of the way, someone shouted to the nearest look-out.  A cry went over the ship, and there was hasty wigwagging of the signalman, and three of the destroyers leaped away like hounds on the chase.

There were some on board who had glasses, and they cried out that it was a black object, and finally reported it a raft with people on it.  Later, when Jimmie reached port, he heard an explanation of the sparkle which had caught his eye—­a woman on the raft had a little pocket-mirror, and had used this to flash the sun’s rays upon the vessel, until at last she had attracted attention.