"Twelve o'clock," said Frank. "Time to eat."
The bridge was turned over to the second officer, and Frank and Jack went below.
"Eat is right, Frank," said Jack as they sat down. "We can't dine in this weather."
It was true. The rolling boards, well enough for easy weather, proved a mockery in a sea like the one that raged now. Butter balls, meat and vegetables shot from plates and went sailing about. It was necessary to drink soup from teacups and such solid foods as Jack and Frank put into their stomachs was only what they succeeded in grabbing as they leaped about on the table.
The two returned on deck.
The day passed quietly. No submarines were sighted, and at last the flotilla reached the point where the destroyers were to leave the homeward bound transports to pursue their voyage alone. The transports soon grew indistinguishable, almost, in the semi-darkness. The senior naval officer aboard the Plymouth hoisted signal flags.
"Bon Voyage," they read.
Through a glass Jack read the reply.
"Thank you for your good work. Best of luck."
From the S.N.O. (senior naval officer) came another message. Frank picked it up.