'I think I'll go back to me 'ammick,' cried somebody else. 'I carn't git standin' abart 'ere in these 'ere clo'es. Grr! ain't it parky?' It must have been, for the speaker was simply attired in a flannel shirt. His legs were bare, and his teeth were chattering.
'There she is!' exclaimed a stoker, pointing vaguely overhead. 'See 'er?'
'That ain't 'er. That's a bloomin' cloud!'
'Garn! That ain't no cloud. Not wot I'm lookin' at.'
'Tell yer it is.'
'No, it ain't. It's 'er, right enuf!'
Further conversation was rudely interrupted by the crash of a gun from ashore, and a thin trail of dim light climbed skywards in a curve as a tracer shell[ [37] hurtled its way through the air.
More guns roared out. More trails of light in the air, rather like the sparks from the tails of rockets!
The sky to the eastward suddenly began to flash and twinkle with momentary spurts of vivid orange flame as the shell started to burst; the searchlights swung round and became stationary, with their beams all pointed at one particular spot in the heavens. But still the spectators could see nothing of the raider. Before very long all the anti-aircraft guns in the place were hard at work pumping projectiles into the atmosphere as fast as they could. Streaks of light sped upwards like the stars from a Roman candle, and presently the heavens toward the point of junction of the searchlight-rays sparkled wickedly and with redoubled energy. Puffs of smoke from the shell explosions filtered slowly through the blue-white beams of the lights; but though the gunners could obviously see what they were firing at, the men on board the Mariner had not been vouchsafed a glimpse of anything.
'Ow!' yelled some one, stamping on the deck in his excitement and impatience, 'why cawn't we see 'er? Where is she?'