“He has, sir, but they refuse to go.”
“Then he should insist.”
“He’s even threatened them, sir. But they won’t go.”
“Well, it’s their funeral,” said Lord Hastings briefly.
The German commander had now given up his attempt to force the others to leave the ship; and the three men stood quietly upon the bridge, awaiting the end.
And it came suddenly.
The German battleship suddenly seemed to leap clear of the water—the result of a second explosion, the sound of which was again barely audible to those aboard the D-17—and came down in twain. The afterpart of the vessel disappeared beneath the water almost immediately, but in some unaccountable manner, the portion forward still floated. It was upon this that the three officers stood.
Each man stood erect, his face tilted a trifle toward the sky. The huge flashlights from the other vessels in the harbor lighted them up plainly, and Frank could see that each of the three was smiling.
Slowly now what was left of the battleship sank, the center of a broad circle of brilliancy. Down, down. Now the water had reached almost to the bridge. Now the officers stood in water up to their knees. Then the wreck dived.
Frank relinquished his place at the periscope to Lord Hastings, remarking: