roar of
destruction; a hideous crash followed, a terrible rending, breaking,
smashing, concatenation of noises, succeeded by frightful detonations,
as through the gaping hole torn in the great battleship by the deadly
torpedo, the water rushed upon the heated boilers, the explosion of
which in turn ignited the magazines. By that deadly underwater thrust of
the enemy the battleship was reduced in a few moments to a disjointed,
disorganized, sinking mass of shapeless, formless, splintered steel.

As the explosions ceased, from every point rose shrieks and groans and
cries of men in the death-agony hurled into eternity and torn like the
steel. And then the boy heard the surviving officers coolly, resolutely
calling the men to their stations.

He had been thrown from his berth by the violence of the explosion. His
face was cut and bleeding where he had struck a near-by stanchion. His
left arm hung useless. He had lain dazed on the deck for a few moments
until he heard the orders of his lieutenant. He was one of the signal
midshipmen stationed on the signal bridge. Whatever happened that was
the place to which to go; he still had a duty to perform.

Picking himself up as best he could, he hurried to report to the
lieutenant. With such means as were available signals were made. Calls
for help? Oh, never! Warnings that the enemy's submarines were in the
near vicinity and that other ships should keep away.

The captain was on the half wrecked bridge above. The boy noticed how
quiet he was, yet his voice rang over the tumult.

"Steady, men, steady. Keep your stations. Stand by. Be ready."

The old quartermaster whose business it was to tell the hours saluted
the captain.

"Eight bells, sir," he said, "midnight. Christmas day," he added.

"Strike them," said the captain.

And, as clear as ever, the four couplets rang out over the chaos and the
disaster.

"Christmas day," the boy murmured.

"She's going, men," said the captain, as the cadences died away. "Save
yourselves. Abandon the ship."

"Christmas morning," said the boy. "I wonder what they're doing at
home."

"Overboard with you, youngster," said the signal lieutenant; "I wish I
had a life-preserver for you, but--"

"Merry Christmas, sir," said the lad suddenly.

"Good God!" said the man. "Merry Christmas! They will think of us at
home."

What was left of the ship gave a mighty reel.

"Quick or she'll suck you down," the officer roared, as he fairly fl