Ever since the early afternoon things had been humming. Urgent telegrams in cipher and wireless signals in code, the purport whereof was unknown to any but the senior officers, had been pouring in all day. Steam for full speed had been raised, and the ships were ready to move at an instant's notice; while Captain Spencer had been on board the flagship during the afternoon, and was away for a very long time. But not till afterwards did any of them know that the British ultimatum had already been handed to Germany.
Nobody was anything but cheerful. Their loyalty to their king, their anxiety to fight and overcome in a just cause, and, if need be, their readiness to die could not be expressed in mere words. There was no necessity for it. They took all that as a matter of course. They had been brought up to the idea ever since they had joined the service, so why talk about it?
Cashley, the fleet paymaster, was vainly endeavouring to get up a four at auction bridge. 'What about it, _padre_?' he asked. 'Going to take a hand?'
His reverence, deep in the _Globe_, looked up. 'Bridge,' he said, shaking his head; 'not to-night, Pay; thanks, all the same.'
'Can't be done, Pay. Too busy, I'm afraid.'
Chase laughed. 'It's all jolly well for you to talk,' he answered good-naturedly. 'You've the prospect of a night in your bunk. I may be dragged out at any time to get the anchor up if we go to sea. Besides, the sailors are at night defence stations, and it's my morning watch. Heigho! it's jolly nigh time I turned in.' He glanced up at the clock.
'Won't any one play bridge?' the fleet paymaster inquired plaintively, looking round. 'The night's still young.'
All the usual habitués of the game shook their heads in dissent.
'This isn't an evening for bridge at all,' chipped in the engineer-commander disapprovingly, looking up over the edge of his paper. 'We don't want to be like Nero, fiddling while Rome burnt.'
'What bunkum you talk, chief!' retorted Cashley. 'Because we're going to war is no reason why we shouldn't have a little innocent amusement. What about Drake and his game of bowls on Plymouth Hoe?'
'That yarn's all rot!' said the engineer-commander. 'I know it's quoted in all the history books; but I don't believe it's true, all the same.'