While the firing was going on, a seaplane appeared above the raider;
some assert that she dropped bombs in front of us, but personally I did
not see this.

The greatest alarm now prevailed on our ship, and passengers did not
know where to go to avoid the shells which we could hear and feel
striking the ship. My wife and I returned to our cabin to fetch an extra
pair of spectacles, our passports, and my pocketbook, and at the same
time picked up her jewel-case. The alley-way between the companion-way
and our cabin was by this time strewn with splinters of wood and glass
and wreckage; pieces of shell had been embedded in the panelling and a
large hole made in the funnel. This damage had been done by a single
shot aimed at the wireless room near the bridge.

We returned once more to the port deck, where most of the first-class
passengers had assembled waiting for orders--which never came. No
instructions came from the Captain or officers or crew; in fact, we
never saw any of the ship's officers until long after all the lifeboats
were afloat on the sea.

The ship had now stopped, and the firing had apparently ceased, but we
did not know whether it would recommence, and of course imagined the
Germans were firing to sink the ship. It was useless trying to escape
the shots, as we did not then know at what part of the ship the Germans
were firing, so there was only one thing for the passengers to do--to
leave the ship as rapidly as possible, as we all thought she was
sinking. Some of the passengers attempted to go on the bridge to get to
the boat deck and help lower the boats, as it seemed nothing was being
done, but we were ordered back by the Second Steward, who, apparently
alone among the ship's officers, kept his head throughout.