There were comrades who had been killed or maimed by the shifting
deck-load of lumber; there were comrades who, in jumping into the sea,
had struck their heads against the steel hull, breaking their necks, and
yet there the rest stood in line, waiting for the orders that would send
them overboard.
"Isn't this a crime," laughed one of the seamen, "just after I had got
on my liberty blues and was all set for the high spots in New York!"
"Gripes! My cigarettes are all wet! Who's got a dry one?"
"Look out there, kid; be careful you don't get your feet wet."
Twelve life-boats were overside, set adrift in the usual manner to be
filled after the men were in the water. Then, of course, the sea was
littered with lumber and all sorts of debris which would keep a man
afloat.
While the abandonment of the ship was under way, the officer who had
been in the bunkers, and whose station was in the fighting-top, hurried
upward to his post. The port guns were still being served, but their
muzzles were inclining ever downward toward the water. In his
battle-station this officer directed the firing of the port guns until
their muzzles dipped beneath the surface of the sea. There were three
officers with him in the fighting-top and three seamen. Below they saw
the perfect order which obtained, the men stepping into the sea in
ranks, laughing and cheering.
Presently this officer sent one of the seamen down the mast to get
life-belts for the group of men in the spotting-station.
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