“Rain and hail. Half done.”
Or else:
“Very bad weather. We do not expect to be through before six in the morning.”
As night wears away, thanks to the tension of mind and the bad weather, disquietude increases on the cruisers. They would like to be nearer, sharing the danger of the others. They fear some catastrophe before dawn.
The other night we saw some suspicious lights in that direction; short sparks like will-o’-the-wisps which succeeded in traversing the leagues of rainy air. The officers on the watch stood by helpless at these signs of the drama that must be going on. Soon the wireless despatch arrived, and was feverishly translated by the ensign on duty.
“The airmen are bombarding us. The bombs are exploding on deck. One fell into the hold. All the Montenegrins have fled and taken shelter on the shore. We fear we shall not be able to finish at dawn. The Austrians continue the bombardment.”
Immediately the Waldeck replied:
“If there is too much danger, or you are no longer numerous enough, stop the unloading, leave the harbor; we are coming to your assistance.”
Without waiting for a response, we made for the bombarded harbor, moving at top speed, for fear we should arrive too late. But in less than ten minutes our rush was stopped short by the wireless reply, which showed their astonishment at our proposition.