"From then on for nearly four days, until picked up by a trawler, we
were continually soaked and lashed by seas, and with nothing to eat or
drink. We had nothing to cling to, and so to keep from being washed
overboard we got upon the same pontoon and hugged our arms about each
other's bodies for the whole time. We suffered from thirst. I had a
craving for canned peaches. Twice a drizzle came on, wetting the
pontoon. We turned on our stomachs and lapped up the moisture, but the
paint came off, with salt, and nauseated us. Our limbs grew numb. From
time to time the wreckage from torpedoed ships would pass. Two full
biscuit-tins came close enough to swim for, but by then in our weakened
state we knew that we would drown if we tried to get them. We did haul
in a third tin and broke it open; it was filled with tobacco.

"Every day we saw convoys in the distance and vainly waved our
handkerchiefs. We had no signal-lights to use at night. Our watches
stopped, and we lost all track of time. We realized how easy it was for
a submarine out there to escape being spotted. On Sunday night we spied
a masthead light and shouted. The ship heard and began to circle us. We
saw her port light. Then when the crew were visible on the deck of the
vessel, she suddenly put out her lights and turned away.

"'She thinks we are Huns,' said Moore.

"'I hope she does,' said I. 'Then they'll send patrol-boats out to get
us. 'We couldn't be worse off if we were Germans.'

"But no rescue came. The next afternoon a seaplane came from the east.
It was flying only 800 feet overhead, aiming down the Channel. It seemed
impossible that she could not sight us for the air was perfectly clear.