J. Archibald McKackney
kept under, and it was all the officers could do to head off their rush for the boats. The jarring thud of the screws ceased. The Hoch Der Kaiser rolled idly on the long swell as if waiting for the unspeakable moment.
Exactly on the stroke of noon the huge vessel shivered from stem to stern as if she had run on a reef. There was a dull, muffled sound from somewhere under the forward hatch, and the air was filled with flying fragments of timber and shattered cargo. An instant later it seemed to rain cans of corned beef, tongue and deviled ham. Then followed a torrent of potatoes, showers of them, hurled aloft with their splintered barrels, and in their descent fairly bombarding the fear-stricken and cowering passengers. I was struck on the head by a juicy missile and sent reeling to the deck, and as in a dream I heard Hank Wilkins observe with his customary heartiness:
"It's what you might call an earthquake accompanied by violent showers of corn-beef hash."
