"9.15. _Q.E._ fired ..." writes the pencil. Again the tumult breaks out, again the shell roars, and changes its note, and dies away in a little remote explosion. "9.16. Balloon to _Q.E._ O 200 ..." writes the pencil. The watchers in the balloon have seen a white column of water leap up just beyond the little black shape in the ribbon of the narrows twelve miles on the other side of the hills. "9.18. _Q.E._ fired ..." continues the record. This time the slow dying wail of the shell ends in a long tremulous explosion. "9.19. O.K...." writes the pencil. The vessel has been struck. Then with an uncanny precision the writing continues:-- "9.21. Vessel sinking. Forepart under water. "9.23. Vessel submerged to forward funnel. "9.25. Stern only visible above water. "9.26. Vessel entirely submerged." It seems incredible. The whole drama has been enacted with the same orderly speed as the movement of the pencil. The great grey battleship has, with three shots, sunk a large transport packed with a thousand men and a considerable cargo of supplies, which lay some fifteen miles away out of sight on the other side of a high range of hills. The blind sailors have loaded their guns and have fired according to the instructions given by the little figures swinging high in the blue morning sky in a creaking basket hung from a drowsy yellow balloon.... Standing here by the little cabin I have been a witness of a wonderful feat, and an awe-inspiring example of the scope of modern weapons. This kite balloon of ours is the first ever used by the British, and this magnificent achievement which I have just seen recorded is the biggest triumph it has accomplished. It is naval history in the making. I walk away across the hot raised balloon deck feeling strangely small, strangely unimportant in an age of huge strength and mighty possibilities. Now the whine and clatter of the winch recommences, and the balloon begins to descend slowly. When it is some five hundred feet above the deck the whistle is blown to call us to "balloon stations," and we hurry along to our appointed positions beside the tall wind-screens. Nearer and nearer comes the balloon; larger and more ungainly grows its yellow bulk, and soon the handling ropes are within reach. Catching hold of the ends, we quickly thread them through ring-bolts and pull them steadily till at last the balloon reaches deck, and the two observers climb out of their baskets.