Phil stood motionless. He was stunned for the moment, not so much by the words as by the scorn in his voice.
Almost overcome with confusion and embarrassment, he turned away and hastily descended the ladder to the deck below.
Once more in his room he found his sword and gloves where he had placed them but ten minutes before the call to quarters. Then had come a call to the executive officer, and once on deck all save the scene about him was driven from his mind. His own thoughtlessness alone could be blamed, but the sneer in Lazar’s voice rankled.
When he again reached the deck, the men had broken ranks and the sharp pipe of the whistles of the boatswain and his mates filled the air, followed in sonorous tones and in perfect chorus:
“All hands unmoor ship.”
The stout hemp lines and chains securing the battle-ship to the dock were cast off, and like writhing serpents, hauled aboard by the lusty crew. The two great propellers churned the muddy water and the war-ship glided out into the crowded waters of the East River.
Two handy tugs attached themselves to this unwieldy mass of steel and slowly swung her armored bow toward the Brooklyn Bridge, spanning the river like a huge rainbow of metal.
“Let go!” shouted the captain of the war-ship to his tiny helpmates; then to the attentive executive officer by his side—
“Slow speed ahead!”
Quietly, the powerful engines started in motion the sixteen thousand tons of fighting material.