At once we hurry down to the deck, and stand at our posts waiting for the descent of the balloon. For a time we sit in the shade, idly talking, when suddenly some one says, "Hello! Look! It's a German!"
High over us, in the pale blue of the zenith, moves a little white bird-like shape, whose turned-back wing-tips reveal it to be an enemy. At once we look to the men standing by the two anti-aircraft maxim guns on the bridge. They have not realised the danger.
"Hi!" we shout. "Look! Up there! He's right above us!"
Zoop—zoop—zoop suddenly wails the ship's syren, sounding the hostile aircraft signal.
"Take cover!" shouts the master-at-arms, and as the men start running down the sides of the deck to the gangways, the little twelve-pounder on the poop crashes out with its first shell; and one of the machine-guns begins a furious clatter as, with muzzle pointed vertically upward, it opens a useless fire against the small shape of the aeroplane almost exactly above us.
Now it is my rather unenviable duty to stand on the deck holding a little flag with which to signal to the men on the winch, which is in furious action as it strives to bring the balloon down as quickly as possible. Owing to the noise of the steam-engine, the men will be able to hear no shout of command, so it is my task to transmit orders to them with my flag. The deck is deserted now, save for the few officers and petty officers. Again and again the anti-aircraft gun on the poop roars out, the rising shell hurries upwards with an ever fainter scream, until at last a little white puff of smoke appears in the thin blue sky far to the right or left of the evil shape which moves forward so relentlessly, and is now almost over us.
I realise the bombs may even now be dropping. I know that in a few moments I may be dead. I feel terribly frightened, but glad that I have something to do. The hand holding the flag shakes a little. I begin to sing one of the Indian love lyrics:—
"When I am dying
Lean over me, tenderly, softly...."
Crash—pok—pok—pok—pok ... sound the guns. Then with a loud boom a great column of water, smoke, and steam, nearly ten feet across, rises up to the right of us near the ship. Pok—pok—pok sounds the maxim. I wonder if there is another bomb coming.
"Stoop, as the yellow roses droop,
In the wind from the ..."