The sun was rising in the east, and Felton could make out the details of the ship below—his own ship, with its familiar bridge, turrets, and superstructure, and an enormous, gaping hole forward where once had been the twelve-inch turret. Far to the south and east were other ships, pursued and pursuing, but which was friend and which enemy he could not make out. Warships, like bicycles, had become standardized.
A small, round shot was dropped over, and Felton watched it descend until it disappeared from sight. But soon a scarcely perceptible splash was seen—a little astern and to starboard, and the captain moved the wheel and turned a lever. Another shot, or finder, went down, and this splashed nearer. Then they lifted a pointed shell, vaned like a dynamite projectile, held it poised until the captain gave the word, and dropped it. It went down true as a plummet, and went out of sight. But its effects were soon seen in an uplifting of the quarter-deck close to the stern, and the rising of a cloud of yellow smoke.
"Nothing left of the steering gear," shuddered Felton. "Wonder how many were killed in that—and the other."
A six-inch gun on the superstructure was barking away, and shells still screamed upward, but none came near the airship.
"We'll silence that gun," the commander said, taking out his watch and slightly changing the course and speed. "Stand by."
They poised another shell, and at the word "drop" down it went. The commander pocketed his watch, and said: "Now for the rest of her; after turret next."
Felton heard, but was watching the descent of the shell. It went out of sight like the others, but soon he saw the uplift of deck, the yellow smoke of explosion, and a dismounted gun flying overboard.
"My God, captain!" he exclaimed. "Is this legitimate warfare? What chance has she? She can't hit back. That was the only gun she had with elevated trunnions."
"And she cost about four millions, didn't she?" answered the captain, derisively. "Did you ever hear about the boy who was reproved for clubbing a mule tied to a post? His excuse was that it had no darn business to be a mule. Mine is that you've no darn business to build battleships."
"Well, we may build airships, too," said Felton, helplessly.