Captain Spencer, who had been sleeping soundly, was at first inclined to be sceptical and annoyed; but, convinced from FitzJohnson's manner that an airship really was in sight, he too left his bunk, and, arrayed in a suit of green-striped pyjamas and a uniform cap, joined the commander on the fore-bridge.
The marines meanwhile, in various stages of deshabille, were mustering on the quarterdeck under the orders of their imperturbable sergeant-major.
'Have you served out ball ammunition?' FitzJohnson demanded.
'Yessir; five rounds a man.'
'Well, double your men on to the forecastle, load your rifles, and stand by to open fire as soon as you get orders.'
'Party! 'shon! Trail arrms! Left turn! Double marrch!'
At that moment Captain Chance appeared up one of the quarterdeck ladders. He was wearing a uniform tunic, pink pyjama trousers, dancing-pumps, and a monocle. 'What the dooce is happenin'?' he wanted to know. 'That damfool of a corporal came down to my cabin; but the silly ass was so bally excited, I couldn't make head or tail of what he was talkin' about. For the Lord's sake, old man, what the devil is the matter?'
'There's a Zeppelin in sight,' FitzJohnson told him. 'I've just sent the marines on to the forecastle.'
'Great Cæsar's aunt!' gasped the marine officer, running forward after his men.
The quartermaster, boatswain's mate, corporal of the watch, and Ordinary Signalman Grimes, meanwhile, had spread the news far and wide. Officers in scanty raiment, armed with binoculars, came up the after-hatches and congregated on the quarterdeck; and most of the ship's company, determined not to miss the fun, seemed to have left their hammocks and repaired to the upper deck. It was literally crowded with excited men, who were all talking at the top of their voices.