"Knock the wireless over," he replied, "and let's have it out with the five-inch gun."
"Clear the deck for action," I roared.
Instantly, the beautiful Schmidt threw off his silken dress, and in the uniform of a German gob kicked his blonde wig around the deck. The Britishers stared aghast. The German flag ran up, our riflemen arose from behind the rail, ready to pick off anyone who tried to handle the five-inch gun. Bang, crash, and our gun knocked over the wireless shack. A tremendous detonation, and our false smokestack cannon added its voice to the general effect.
The steamer's crew swarmed on deck and ran around like crazy animals. The captain telephoned his order to start the engines. His engine crew was on deck as panicky as the others. He ordered the boats swung out. His men were already doing that as well as their fright allowed.
"Clear the deck for action," he howled.
That only gave the crew a greater scare than ever.
I shouted to him:
"Lay to, or I will sink you."
I had to admire that captain. The fat fellow dominated the frightened mob by sheer force of lung power. His voice seemed to sweep the deck and master everything.
"Gun crew to their posts. By Joe, you scalawags. Gun crew to their posts, I say, by Joe."