The cargo boats, which ranged from big to little, passed on down the Rack, exchanging signals with the flagship, and went out of sight in the early darkness, and for awhile Nelson hoped against hope. But presently the bugle called, winches clattered all over the harbor and the fleet followed. Nelson could have wept. The fine adventure had come to nothing in the end but the old, old story: convoying! Ferris summed it up in one bitter word: “Stung!”
CHAPTER XX
THE BATTLE IN THE NORTH SEA
Nelson reached the deck confused, half-awake. In his ears was the terrific wailing sound that had sent him instinctively tumbling from his hammock. For an instant he blinked and strove to gather scattered faculties. Up and down the deck hammocks were emptying and feet padded hurriedly past. He grabbed at his clothes, his heart leaping as the meaning of the din came to him. It was General Quarters! The bugle had taken up the alarm and the quick notes sounded nearer and nearer. The dim electric lamps still glowed, but a wan light from open ports showed daylight outside. Already the watch was connecting fire hose. Somewhere near at hand the shrill, piercing shriek of a siren drowned the gongs and bugles. The shriek rose and fell deafeningly and grew fainter. Nelson knew without seeing that a destroyer had dashed past them astern. The rudder chains were groaning, and from the engine rooms came a louder hum and clatter. Sleep was gone now, and he hurried to his station. Shells were already coming up, and as Nelson fell in the command of “Stations!” was given. Through the port, as he sprang to the training wheel, lay a segment of choppy, drab ocean across which a gray destroyer was hurtling with clouds of oily smoke whirling back from her four stacks. A leaden sky was overhead and a sea-mist hung like a curtain a few miles away. From the destroyer came a flash of pale rosy light and the sharp bark of a four-inch gun.
“Bore clear!”
“Load!”
A geyser of water shot into the air astern of the destroyer.
“Rotten shooting, Fritz!” muttered a shellman as he rammed home. Waiting, Nelson peered tensely into the mist. Once he thought he saw a gray shadow there, but was not certain. “Ready!” The officer spoke sharply into the telephone. Then they waited, plugman, pointer, trainer, sight setter, shellmen and powdermen. A second destroyer reeled past at a good thirty knots, a “Limie” this time, her siren blowing hysterically as she demanded sea room.
“Gangway for Lord Goldashington,” murmured the sight setter.