Page:Patriotic pieces from the Great War, Jones, 1918.djvu/175

Rh The cook looked up and grinned.

"Could they get one a day like this?" he asked.

"They say they could," answered the sailor. "Heavy weather don't seem to make much difference to—"

He stopped abruptly, stood listening for a moment, and jumped for the door. Peering forward through the driving spray, he saw the breech of the forward gun open and an empty shell, still smoking from the discharge, jumped onto the wet deck. The loader, timing his action to the pitch of the ship, slid another shell into the opening, and the plugman slammed home the breech.

The muzzle lifted as the ship rolled and a blinding flash burst from it. A roar rolled down the deck toward the sailor and the cook, both of whom stood clutching the rail, heedless of the breaking seas. Looking intently into the haze, they saw a splash in the tumbling water, and saw, too, the streaming deck of a submarine. The gun on the stern of the Ardmore roared, and another splash appeared beside the submarine. The gun crew forward, working with a precision gained from many a drill, loaded again. The ship slid over a swell, rolling slowly. The pointer elevated the muzzle, and an ear-splitting blast burst forth.