'They're going to fight,' I sang out, not quite certain that I wasn't frightened.
But O'Leary growled, and said, 'No such luck, sir, anyway, that's only the sunrise gun--late as usu'l, sir.'
'General quarters' was sounded--we could hear it too aboard the _Hercules_--and we all had to rush to our stations. Mine was in the starboard for'ard 9.2 turret, and you may bet your life that directly we'd cleared it away, and had things ready inside, I got my head jammed outside the sighting hood to see what was going on.
We headed straight inshore, and then made a wide sweep round the lighthouse and the end of the breakwater.
As we turned, the white forts about the town came into view, and we tried to get our gun to bear on them, but though we gave it extreme elevation, cocking it up in the air, we couldn't elevate it nearly enough.
Mr. Bigge, the lieutenant in charge of my turret, was very angry about it, but of course nothing could be done. That was why the _Hercules_ was steaming backwards and forwards, far enough outside the breakwater for her guns to bear.
As we crept up to the town, I kept my telescope glued on the forts, but couldn't see any sign of life in them.
'They aren't going to fight, sir, are they?' I asked Mr. Bigge, and he didn't think they were, which was very disappointing--one doesn't mind being fired at when one is inside a turret.
On the port side--the breakwater side--we were now right alongside the Santa Cruz Navy--miserable dirty little ships when you saw them close to us. Their people were awake and on deck, but hardly bothered to look at us, and were fishing over the side, smoking cigarettes, and spitting in the water, some of them washing clothes and hanging them up in the rigging. They did hoist their colours--the vertical green and yellow stripes--after a time, but that was the only thing they did. Not very exciting, after all we had been hoping for, was it?
Just before we got up to the end of the breakwater we'd dropped a kedge anchor made fast to our biggest wire hawser, and as we went along we paid the hawser out astern. Then when we'd got just beyond the landing-stage we dropped an anchor, and there we were in a pretty close billet, not enough room to turn, but our kedge ready to haul us out stern first, and everything as snug as a tin of sardines. We were not a hundred yards from the wharves where that guard of honour had been yesterday, but only a few people and some mules were moving sleepily about, and a lonely-looking sentry leant against a great pile of cocoa bales and yawned.