With these few words, so pregnant of meaning, our hero turned his eyes toward the great leviathans of the deep. Smoke rolled in mighty volumes from their funnels and went whirling off in the howling gale. A thousand cannon strained their cyclopean eyes to the northward; 10,000 Russian tars crouched defiantly at the breech blocks.
THESE WERE THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS!
For a few moments the Admiral stood there in deep contemplation, listening to the shouting seas and the screaming of the winds. Then, turning slowly, he made his way to the bridge—“Anything in sight?” he inquired of a bystander.
“Forty ships off the port bow, sir. All steamers, sir, but I can’t make out their colors.”
“Humph,” said the admiral, in Russian. “Fishing boats, probably,” and dismissed the matter from his thoughts.
Again he turned his eyes shoreward and another tear appeared—“Ah,” he mused, “I have been so happy here. If my weekly paper had not come so irregularly of late I should be perfectly happy here. Heigh ho, I must not yield to sentiment in this manner.”
A thought then struck him and he turned to give an order to a handsome bystander wearing spurs—“I’ll pipe all hands below and give my men a night’s rest.”
In the twinkling of an eye the wireless telegraph was sending forth the glad news, and a moment later 10,000 Russians tars were peacefully sleeping in their hammocks. A great silence lay over the mighty battleships.
THE FRENCH IDEA OF NEUTRALITY