"Aye, aye, sir," said the junior watch officer, and departed in haste.

There was none of the bustle and confusion aboard the U.S.S. Plymouth, at
that moment lying idle in a British port, that the landsman would commonly
associate with sailing orders to a great destroyer. Blowers began to hum
in the fire rooms. The torpedo gunner's mates slipped detonators in the
warheads and looked to the rack load of depth charges. The steward made a
last trip across to the depot ship. Otherwise, things ran on very much as
before.

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.