At midnight the junior watch officer called the captain, who had turned in several hours earlier, and reported: 

“Liberty party all on board, sir.”

Then he turned in for a few hours’ rest himself.

The junior watch was astir again at three o’clock.  He routed out a sleepy crew to hoist boats and secure for sea.  Seven bells struck on the Plymouth.

Captain Templeton appeared on the bridge.  Lieutenant Chadwick was at his side, as were Lieutenants Shinnick and Craib, second and third officers respectively.  Captain Templeton gave a command.  The cable was slipped from the mooring buoy.  Ports were darkened and the Plymouth slipped out.  A bit inside the protection of the submarine nets, but just outside the channel, she lay to, breasting the flood tide.  There she lay for almost an hour.

“Coffee for the men,” said Captain Templeton.

The morning coffee was served on deck in the darkness.

Lights appeared in the distance, and presently another destroyer joined the Plymouth.  Running lights of two more appeared as the clock struck 4 a.m.

Captain Templeton signalled the engine room for two-thirds speed ahead.  Running lights were blanketed on the four destroyers, and the ships fell into column.

Lieutenant Chadwick felt a drop on his face.  He held out a hand.

“Rain,” he said briefly.

Jack—­Captain Templeton—­nodded.

“So much the better, Frank,” he replied.

The four destroyers cleared the channel light and spread out like a fan into line formation.

“Full speed ahead!” came Jack’s next command.

The Plymouth leaped ahead, as did her sister ships on either side.

“We’re off,” said Frank.

Away they sped in the darkness, a division of four Yankee destroyers, tearing through the Irish sea on a rainy morning; Frank knew there were four ships in line, but all he could see was his guide, a black smudge in the darkness, a few ship lengths away on his port bow.  Directly she was blotted from sight by a rain squall.

“Running lights!” shouted Frank.

The lights flashed.  Frank kept an eye forward.  Directly he got a return flash from the ship ahead, and then picked up her shape again.

Morning dawned and still the fleet sped on.  Toward noon the weather cleared.  Officer and men kept their watches by regular turn during the day.  At sundown the four destroyers slowed down and circled around in a slow column.  The eyes of every officer watched the clock.  They were watching for something.  Directly it came—­a line of other ships, transports filled with wounded soldiers returning to America.  These must be safely convoyed to a certain point beyond the submarine zone by the Plymouth and her sister ships.

On came the transports camouflaged like zebras.  The Plymouth and the other destroyers fell into line on either side of the transports.