However, the burden of destroying the English craft had
been transferred to the cruisers that came rushing forward at at least
twenty-five knots an hour.
As Madden stood on the bridge in the skirling wind, the little
_Vulcan_, the seaweed drifts and the cruisers reminded him of
nothing so much as a rabbit flying across cotton rows in front of four
greyhounds; only here there were no friendly briar patches or fence
corners in which to double or hide. Never had the Sargasso appeared so
vast, so empty, so brilliant, so hot.
"Any chance?" he shouted to Caradoc above the rumble of machinery and
the whistling of the wind.
"There's always a chance! They might foul in these weeds!" he nodded
aft.
"Improbable."
"Lloyds would hardly insure us," admitted the commander dryly.
At that moment, as if to lend point to the remark, came a sharp clap of
thunder off their port bow. Madden whirled quickly. A ball of white
smoke, the size of a balloon, drifted up in the air a quarter of a mile
distant.
The American stared at the smoke quite wonderstruck, then looked around
at the distant ships that had not yet topped the horizon.
"Did they shoot this far?"
"A request to heave to."
"Are you going to do it?"
At the bursting of the shell, the men on deck came walking aft to the
superstructure, with the apprehensive gait of men getting under shelter
from blasting operations.
Pages:
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233