For this trip the lookouts were trebled. They stood at every point of vantage from which anything on the sea might be sighted.
Mile after mile the "Grigsby" logged, plunging and dipping in the sea, her decks running water and spray dashing continuously over the bridge. It was wet work, and over all was the roaring racket of the ship's powerful machinery. To Darrin it was music; the dash and the sense of responsibility thrilled him.
At last came the anxiously awaited hail from the lookout aloft:
"Topmasts of a ship almost dead ahead, sir."
"Keep her constantly in sight, and as soon as you can make out the hull report whether she displays the hospital Red Cross," the watch officer called back.
"Aye, aye, sir."
To those on the bridge the mastheads were soon visible. After that came the lookout's hail:
"She's a hospital ship, sir. I can make out the Red Cross plainly through the glass."
"It must be the 'Gloucester,' then," remarked Lieutenant Fernald.
"Pass the word that the first man really to sight a periscope or a conning tower shall have a fortnight's shore leave extra," Dave ordered.