The transport was the one they had been trying to overtake, and
Colonel Bright's own men met him with cheers and sobs as he was
assisted on deck. He and the others were hurried below where
they were put under the care of the ship's doctor.
A search now began for the remaining boats. It was not until
just before dark that the powerful glasses in the hands of one of
the lookout men discovered some small specks far to starboard.
It was the missing boats. As soon as they, with their loads of
suffering men, had been taken on board, the transport and her
convoys, wrapped in darkness, plunged forward through the
gathering night.
They were approaching the danger zone.
The following day, the Colonel was himself again. He had been
too long a soldier to let the loss of the two boys, dear as they
were, completely crush him. They were lost; it was the fortune
of war. They were lost as thousands of other young, splendid
fellows had been lost; and although the Colonel could scarcely
bear to think of the grief of the poor mother back home when she
should learn of the loss of her two idolized sons, he put the
picture behind him. Here was a transport full of men, his own
command largely, and a deep anxiety beset him when he looked over
the sea, searching its surface for a glimpse of a telltale
periscope.
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