Under the ruined buildings that formerly were surmounted by the semaphore tower—ruins that suggested the scene of a German raid—the Sub made his way to the South Railway Jetty, alongside of which was moored H.M.S. Hammerer, almost ready to proceed to sea.
In her new garb of neutral-grey the old ship looked smart and business-like. In each of her two barbettes a pair of re-lined 12-inch guns grinned menacingly. Her brasswork no longer glittered in the sunlight: it had been daubed over with the same hue of neutral paint. The only dashes of colour about her were the blue-and-gold uniforms of the officers, for she showed no flag. It was yet too soon for the time-honoured custom of hoisting the white ensign with full naval honours.
Having duly reported himself, Dick was informed that he was to be in charge of the gun-room—the cradle of budding Nelsons, for the Hammerer carried twelve midshipmen in addition to a clerk and two assistant clerks.
For the next three days the Sub had hardly a minute to call his own. It was a hasty, yet complete, commissioning, nothing being overlooked in the matter of detail; and during those three days the ship's company did a normal week's work. Meals had to be hurriedly snatched. Even the usual formal dinner had to be scrambled through, with grave danger to the digestions of the youthful officers. What with coaling, shipping ammunition and stores, and generally "shaking down", Dick was glad to tumble into his bunk and sleep the sleep of healthy exhaustion, until aroused by his servant announcing that it was time to begin another day's arduous duty.
At length the Hammerer was ready to sail to her unknown destination; for it was an understood thing that she was to proceed under sealed orders.
The Captain and most of the officers on duty were on the fore-bridge. Aft mustered the marine guard and the band, while the stanchion rails and gun-ports were packed with seamen in their white working-rig.
On the jetty were the dockyard Staff-captain's men, ready at the word of command to slip "springs" and hawsers; but the usual setting of the picture of a departing man-of-war was absent. No throng of relatives and friends of the crew gathered on the farewell jetty. The time of departure was a secret. In war-time the great silent navy is shown to perfection; and no crowd of civilians is permitted to see what may prove to be the last of a leviathan going forth to do her duty in the North Sea.
A signalman, holding the halyard in his hand, awaited a glance from the Captain. It came at last. Up fluttered a hoist of bunting—the formal asking for permission to proceed.
"Permission, sir!" reported the signalman, as an answering string of colour announced that the Commander-in-Chief of the port had graciously condescended to order the Hammerer to do what had been previously ordered.
"Stand clear!"