In his civilian attire he hastened down the passage-way and up to the spar deck. And here, as he would also have seen had he looked aft, a remarkable scene was being enacted.
At the first sound of the whistle, which had now begun its wailing anew, the crew had sprung to clear the boats for launching.
“Will I be in the way on the bridge?” Dave called up.
“Come right up,” Dan nodded.
Darrin was beside his friend in a jiffy.
“Over there,” said Dalzell, nodding.
Off to starboard about a mile distant, a German submarine lay rolling. In the morning light the tower stood out against the horizon, magnified in size. The submersible’s deck also showed, with sailors standing by the forward and after guns.
“We’ll get a shell in a moment,” spoke Dalzell, calmly, as the second sounding of the whistle signal ended.
Though the “Prince” carried wireless apparatus for installing at need, no sign of it was visible in the form of aerials and connections, so the first shell was aimed not at the foremast, but at the single broad, tall smoke-stack. It missed by only a foot and went screaming to port.
For the third time the “Prince’s” whistle sounded, “Abandon ship.” Members of the crew sprang up into two of the boats. A few men who looked like civilian passengers hastily followed. Then a feminine bevy raced out on deck.