Reluctantly both boys turned away, as did hundreds of their ship-mates. Before long there was silence in the ship and aboard all the other grim fighting-craft. Then, like a benison, the sweet, low notes of “taps” echoed mournfully through the anchored fleet.
All lights but anchor lights disappeared instantly. Darkness enshrouded the sleeping fleet. Only on deck the regular footsteps of the sentries and the cry of the watch as the bell struck the hours, broke the silence that brooded above the desert and the desert sea.
CHAPTER XXV.
JACK ASHORE.
“Whoa, there! Whoa!”
“Hey, mate, this critter won’t steer right.”
“Mine’s got a list to starboard.”
“Mine’s lost his rudder and is all adrift!”
The Jackies from the fleet, mounted on donkeys on which they were seeing the sights, had the bazaar in Cairo in an uproar. Natives in long robes and red fez caps were darting about trying to bring order out of chaos. Donkeys were braying, Jackies shouting with laughter, and American tourists cheering, as they saw Uncle Sam’s fighting men coming into town from the ornate railroad station which looked more like a mosque than a depot.
