Excerpt from A Sailor’s Stories:

H.M.C.S. Saguenay

I was trying to stop the screams. We had twenty-one days survivor’s leave and I was drunk the whole time and after too. I’m eighty-eight years old and I finally realize I was trying to stop the screams. Now I can forgive myself.
Nineteen killed and twenty-one injured. All shipmates. Many friends.
I was sitting on-watch in the remote control radio office when it happened. The door was ajar about six inches to aid ventilation. I was mesmerized by it all happening at once; the ship lurching up; the chorus of screams cut short, an instant; blue flame filling the door slit, oscillating back and forth like zinging wires horizontal to the opening slit; the ship lurching down and my headphones fell off my head and onto the desk. I felt the noise of the explosion and smelled cordite. I’m not certain I even heard screams in the first place. I drank to stop hearing them. There can’t be a worse thing to bear than screams that stop before they get started.
A few days before the explosion I heard the Chief E.R.A. dressing down one of the mates: Hoogelvt, you are so stupid, if you live to be a hundred and study hard all your life, at the end of that time you will still be a complete fucking idiot!
I called the main office, obtained permission to close down watch on fleet wave, and then stepped into the passageway. I could hear the SOS transmission starting. Dit dit dit dah dah dah dit dit dit. I went out to the break of the fo’c’s’le and looked up to check the antennas, finding the mainmast was broken and hanging down with the antennas swinging back and forth. I went back into the smoke and entered the main W/T office to report the antennas. The Leading Telegraphist told me to switch on the spark transmitter, which was on a different antenna. As soon as I did he started re-transmitting the SOS message which had been coded and passed down the voice pipe. I marveled at his ability to concentrate on the Morse code in light of the peculiarities of our spark transmitter; it had a heavy keying solenoid about ten inches long that made no sound when he pressed the key, but clanked every time he released it. In addition, being a spark transmitter, the signal trailed off to a lower pitch as each dash ended and the spark trailed off. He sent the message and repeated it, then told me to take over. He opened the door to the passageway, and the office filled with smoke so we were forced to vacate.
Arriving on the upper deck I found myself on the end of a line of men waiting for their turn on the Dalton Pump, which was feeding a hose leading into the smoke. Apparently water pressure was lost with the explosion; the Dalton Pump was operated by manpower and had a wheel operated by two men. When it came to my turn at the pump I found I was matched with a very burly and enthusiastic Stoker. I applied my full one hundred and thirty pounds to the task but soon realized my exhaustion was a drag rather than a help, so I stepped out of the way of the man behind me.
The next thing I can remember was the order, standby to abandon ship. My abandon ship station was a Carley Float on the port side after top. A Carley Float is designed to keep you afloat; not to keep you dry. It has looped rope around its perimeter that can be grasped by a number of men. We were sitting on the inboard edge of the Carley Float; the guard rails were down and the opposite edge of the float extended over the ships’ side, prepared for the order Abandon ship. I turned toward Tom Fraser, extending my right hand, Itís been great chumming with you and I hope you make it. Tom grasped my hand, I hope you do too, but neither of us will last five minutes. This December water is so cold we wonít feel anything, it will be an easy death.
A Steward joined us. He had gone to the Captain’s pantry and found a bottle of rum to insulate us from the cold. We drank and soberly waited, but there was no further order from the bridge.
As our mood lightened, so did the sky. Dawn approached and with it there came a cheer from every man in the ship as a destroyer became visible in the distance. It was H.M.S Highlander. Our SOS had been heard.