"Do you see any sign of the boat, Mr. Aubyn?" asked Captain Holloway. "Those fellows ought to be on their way back by this time."
Terence, who was officer of the watch, brought his glass to bear upon the shore, where a cluster of red-tiled roofs, dominated by the grey tower of a church, marked the position of the village—a distance of about a mile and a half from where the "Terrier" lay.
"Boat's still at the hard, sir," he reported. "The boat-keeper is sitting in the stern sheets."
Lieutenant-Commander Holloway gave vent to a gesture of impatience. He knew from the fact that the seaman left in charge was taking it easy that the rest of the party were not on their way back to the hard.
On board the "Terrier" the crew were taking advantage of dry decks to air their saturated clothing and bedding. The watches had just been changed. Down on the ill-ventilated mess-deck grimy stokers, up from the confined stokehold, were scrubbing themselves and changing into clean rig. The fo'c'sle was packed with humanity. Amid the babel of voices Terence could detect the burr of Glorious Devon, the broad Scotch of the Highlands, the staccato voice of an excitable Welshman, the rich brogue of Connemara, and the last but not least, the unmistakable Cockney accent, but one and all stout-hearted British seamen. The most frequent topic of conversation that drifted to the sub.'s ears as he stood on the elevated bridge was football. Some of the men were discussing home affairs in the blunt open fashion that Jack Tar unconsciously adopts; others were debating the prospects of Christmas leave. As for the war, the subject was almost entirely ignored.
Once more the sub. brought his telescope to bear upon the shore. There were signs of activity on the part of the boat-keeper, so Terence came to the conclusion that the hospital party were on their way back.
Then, with a true seaman's almost unconscious instinct he gave a glance first to windward and then towards the open sea. As he did so he made a sudden dash to the engine-room telegraph, signalling for full speed astern with the starboard engine and full speed ahead with the port, at the same time shouting in stentorian tones that electrified the whole of the crew within hearing:—
"Submarine on the port beam!"
A bugle blared. Ere the short notes of alarm had died away Captain Holloway was beside his subordinate on the bridge. The guns' crews of the two 4.7's sprang to their weapons. Clang went the breach-blocks.
"Eight hundred yards!" announced the gunner calmly, as the copper cylinders with their deadly steel heads were thrust home.