When we were a mile or so out from Ostend conversation ceased, an
expectant look came into all faces, and opera glasses began to stand out
from above all noses. This impressive hush lasted a few minutes, and
then some one said:
“There they are!”
“Where?”
“Away yonder ahead--straight ahead.”
Which was true. Three huge shapes smothered in the haze--the _Vanguard_,
the _Audacious_, and the _Devastation_--all great ironclads. They were
to do escort duty. The officers and correspondents gathered on the
forecastle and waited for the next act. A red spout of fire issued from
the _Vanguard’s_ side, another flashed from the _Audacious_. Beautiful
these red tongues were against the dark haze. Then there was a long
pause--ever so long a pause and not a sound, not the suspicion of a
sound; and now, out of the stillness, came a deep, solemn “boom! boom!”
It had not occurred to me that at so great a distance I would not hear
the report as soon as I saw the flash. The two crimson jets were very
beautiful, but not more so than the rolling volumes of white smoke that
plunged after them, rested a moment over the water, and then went
wreathing and curling up among the webbed rigging and the tall masts,
and left only glimpses of these things visible, high up in the air,
projecting as if from a fog.
Now the flashes came thick and fast from the black sides of both
vessels. The muffled thunders of the guns mingled together in one
continued roll, the two ships were lost to sight, and in their places
two mountains of tumbled smoke rested upon the motionless water, their
bases in the hazy twilight and their summits shining in the sun. It was
good to be there and see so fine a spectacle as that.