"I haven't seen him before."
"No, I kept him ashore while we were commissioning, and he generally keeps down below for the first twenty-four hours at sea. He'll be a pal to you, Webb; almost as much as Cinders. Well, I'll leave him with you. Stop there, Laddie, there's a good dog. Call me directly you sight Cape Villano light, Webb. Keep it well on the port bow; we're off a tricky coast, you know."
Left alone the Sub stooped and patted the silky hair of the sheep-dog's head. Webb was one of those fellows to whom most dogs take at sight. This animal was no exception to the general rule.
Laddie was a large bob-tailed sheep-dog standing more than two feet from the ground—or rather, deck—and powerfully built. Even in the dim light Webb noticed one peculiarity. The animal's eyes were of a turquoise-blue colour and gleamed in the dark like those of a cat.
Suddenly the animal bounded to the weather side of the bridge and, placing his front paws on the guard-rail, gave vent to three deep, angry barks.
"What's the matter, old boy?" asked Webb, peering in vain to ascertain the cause of the dog's excitability.
Hearing his pet's warning bark Lieutenant Osborne was on the bridge in a trice. One glance at Laddie was sufficient.
"Action stations!" he roared in stentorian tones; then, "Hard-a-port, quartermaster!"
Even as the spokes of the steam steering-gear revolved rapidly under the helmsman's hands, the guns' crews, who had been fitfully dozing beside their weapons, manned the quick-firers, while the search-lights with their carbons sizzling were trained outboard, ready at the word of command to unscreen and throw their dazzling rays upon the surface of the waves.
Listing heavily to port as she turned rapidly on her helm, the Portchester Castle just missed by a few yards an ever-diverging double track of foam that contrasted vividly with the inky blackness of the water.