Off the Belgian Coast
"A chance of seeing something exciting at last!" exclaimed Ross. "Of
course we've not had altogether a dull time, but this ought to be
absolutely 'it'."
Two months had elapsed since the lads saw a hostile air-ship over
London. Now they were about to see what a fleet of heavily armed
British ships could do--not against a practically defenceless town, but
against the strongly fortified German batteries on the Belgian coast.
Trefusis and Haye were on board the _Capella_, lying in the outer
harbour at Dover. It was not the _Capella_ that had come off
second-best in an encounter with a floating mine, but another, similar
in almost every respect to the lost patrol-boat. She was manned, too,
by the same officers and crew--with one exception. Sub-lieutenant John
Barry had obtained his promotion, and had been appointed to H.M.S.
_Hunbilker_ in command.
What the _Hunbilker_ was, no one on board the _Capella_ knew. The
Admiralty publications at their disposal were blank as far as that ship
was concerned. Speculation ran high: some of the officers expressing
their opinion that Barry's command was a subsidized cargo-boat; others
that she was one of the mosquito flotilla that had been evolved out of
modern naval requirements. All were wrong, as they had yet to learn
something more of the type of vessel flying the White Ensign that was
helping to sweep the seas of the Black Cross of Germany.
"Well, old boy, how do you think you will like the racket?" asked
Vernon, stooping to pat the massive head of a healthy-looking
sheep-dog. Shrap had been allowed, by the Captain's permission, to
join the _Capella_ as a mascot--the pet of both officers and crew, and
of Vernon Haye in particular.
Shrap winked knowingly, then trotted off to a secluded part of the
chart-room, where, under a locker, he had hidden the remains of what,
half an hour previously, had been Sub-lieutenant Fox's shaving-brush.
The _Capella_ was by no means the only craft rolling sluggishly in the
vast artificial harbour. There were seven motor patrol-vessels,
specially detailed for the forthcoming operations as tenders to the
sea-planes.
A strong array of monitors, craft of ugly but utilitarian design,
low-lying, and mounting two 14-inch guns, had assembled for the purpose
of making it hot for the Hun on the morrow. Only light-draughted craft
were to be employed in the attack, since they could approach within
very effective range of their guns, and at the same time stand little
chance of being torpedoed by a handful of unterseebooten that had been
transported in sections to Zeebrugge and there fitted for service.
According to the Admiral's plan, the monitors were to approach Ostend
just after daybreak. In the offing a number of empty transports were
to assemble, protected by a powerful flotilla of destroyers. The
appearance of these transports would be taken by the Germans as an
indication of an attempted landing of a British force, and troops would
be hurriedly massed to repel the threatened invasion.
The monitors were thereupon to fire a certain number of rounds, then,
followed in a parallel course by the transports, make for Zeebrugge.
Alternate visits to both the Belgian ports in German hands were to be
made throughout the day, thereby wearing out the German troops in
fruitless marching and counter-marching, and at the same time diverting
a strong body of men from a section of the trenches upon which the
British troops were to deliver a sudden and unexpected assault.
At four in the morning the monitors began to leave Dover Harbour.
Thanks to the stringent military precautions taken in the
town--precautions that could with decided advantage be imitated
elsewhere--the presence of spies was almost, if not quite, a matter of
impossibility. Unheralded by the Kaiser's agents, the small yet
powerful vessels cleared the entrance to the breakwater and headed for
the Belgian coast.
An hour later a masthead lamp blinked from the _Vega_--the senior
officer's ship of the patrol flotilla. Then, in line ahead, the swift
motor craft slipped quietly out of the harbour to overtake their slower
consorts.
The _Capella_, like the rest of her sister ships, was cleared for
action. Stanchion-rails were unshipped; everything likely to splinter
was sent below. In the wake of the armoured protection, sandbags were
placed to reinforce the steel plating. Although the patrol-vessels
were not to take part in the bombardment, they had to be prepared in
case a forlorn hope in the shape of a few German torpedo-boats might
attempt a sudden onslaught.
As attendants upon the sea-planes, too, it was possible that the
patrol-boats would have to approach within range of the garrison
artillery, especially in the event of one of the aerial craft being
disabled and falling into the sea, on its return from "spotting" the
hits of the monitors' guns.
Dawn had not yet broken when the monitors, followed at two miles'
distance by the motor patrol, came in sight of the search-lights on the
low-lying Belgian coast. Beyond the limit of direct rays, yet within
range of their monster guns, the monitors were safe from detection.
All that was wanting was the presence of the sea-planes, for whose work
daylight was essential.
Slowly a pale light spread on the north-eastern horizon. The short
wintry day was breaking. The sea was calm. The air was piercingly
cold. A thin coating of frost covered the _Capella's_ deck. Ross and
his chum were heartily glad of their thick pilot-coats, mufflers, and
woollen "mitts", as they sheltered behind the breast-work erected on
the bridge.
Captain Syllenger slowly paced the bridge, frequently glancing at the
clock in the chart-room, since it was almost a matter of impossibility
to consult his watch, owing to his generous accumulation of clothing.
It was now nearly eight o'clock, but as yet there were no signs of the
expected sea-planes.
Just then the dull morning light was pierced by a brilliant flash from
one of the monitors. The watchers on the _Capella's_ bridge could see
the low-lying hull give a decided jerk in a sternward direction under
the reaction of the enormous projectile.
Long before the shell reached its objective, other 14-inch guns added
their quota, and the air was rent with the flashes of the ordnance and
the ear-splitting detonations following the discharge.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Sub-lieutenant Fox, who with his brother officers
had had telescopes levelled upon the faintly outlined sand dunes.
"There are the sea-planes!"
He was right. Flying at a great height the air-squadron had passed
over the warships, and had taken up their observation stations without
being seen or heard by anyone on board the patrol-vessels immediately
over the German batteries, they were cutting "figure eights" and
describing seemingly erratic circles, while the observers, coolly
wirelessing the results of the monitors' shells, hardly heeded the
furious fire directed upon them by the hostile anti-aircraft guns.
On a point extending for nearly three miles, the shore was torn by the
terrific explosive shells. Clouds of sand, and yellow smoke mingled
marked the scene of destruction, as battery after battery was spotted
and promptly put out of action. Across the dunes could be seen swarms
of ant-like figures--German troops flying for shelter from the
devastating fire of the British guns.
But the action was by no means a one-sided one. Guns, large and small,
replied; the heavier ordnance vigorously at first, and then gradually
slackening down as the lyddite shells sought out the fixed
emplacements. The lighter guns, mounted on armoured motor-cars, gave
more trouble, since, after every shot, each piece was moved a hundred
yards or more.
For several minutes the lads watched the unusual spectacle through the
binoculars. Then something resembling a concentrated tornado screeched
above their heads. Instinctively they ducked, the glasses falling from
their hands. Ten seconds later Ross ventured to look up. Vernon was
still holding his hands over his face. Then slowly he, too, opened his
eyes.
The lads smiled sadly at each other, picked up their binoculars, and
somewhat shamefacedly resumed their former positions.
It was their baptism of heavy gun-fire. A 42-centimetre shell had
ricochetted and leapt full twenty feet above their heads.
Captain Syllenger was standing a few paces from them. Luckily, thought
Ross, the skipper's back was turned, and he had not noticed the action
of his young subordinates. But Trefusis was wrong. The Captain had
seen them. Out of consideration, for he remembered his own sensations
when first under fire, he affected not to notice the temporary panic
that had overtaken the midshipmen.
The _Capella_ was now running at half speed, in a direction parallel to
the shore. All around, the sea was torn by the falling projectiles,
most of which were sufficiently large to send her to the bottom like a
stone. Yet, beyond the wounding of her wireless operator, the loss of
her signalling-mast, and the shattering of one of her boats, she came
off lightly. Although not the object of the hostile guns, she narrowly
escaped several ricochets, until, at a signal from the senior officer,
the patrol-vessels withdrew to a safer distance.
One of the monitors, too, was slowly steaming seawards, well down by
the bows and smoke issuing from her fo'c'sle, while her single funnel
was riddled like a sieve.
"Sea-plane returning, sir!" announced Sub-lieutenant Fox.
Flying at an altitude of about a thousand feet, one of the aerial
scouts was making towards the line of patrol-vessels. She was flying
steadily; her motor was purring rhythmically; a trail of thin bluish
smoke from her exhaust belied the suggestion of an overheated engine.
Yet something must have taken place for her to have quitted her
observation station.
Promptly Captain Syllenger gave orders for the _Capella's_ motors to
stop, then "Easy astern" until way was off the ship.
Making a graceful volplane, the sea-plane alighted with a faint splash
upon the surface of the water, and "taxied" to leeward of the
motionless vessel.
The sea-plane was a "two-seater". The rearmost or observer's seat was
unoccupied. In the foremost was a young Flight-Sub-lieutenant heavily
clad, and his clean-shaven face almost hidden by an airman's helmet.
For the first time, the officers on the bridge of the _Capella_ noticed
that the light steel plating was holed in many places, while the planes
bore testimony to the accuracy of the enemy's shrapnel.
"A casualty!" sang out the Flying officer. "My pilot's been hit. Can
you take him on board?"
Two of the _Capella's_ crew swarmed over the side and gained the
nearmost float, whence they clambered upon the body of the sea-plane.
At the same time, one of the davits from which the _Capella's_
shattered boat had hung was slung outboard. By dint of careful
manoeuvring, the sea-plane was brought alongside with her main planes
practically parallel to the side of the ship.
The injured man was lying on the floor of the fuselage. A canvas band
was strapped round his waist, and, supported by the two seamen, he was
gently hoisted on board the ship by means of the davit tackle.
The Flight-Sub swung himself over the side of the _Capella_ and
ascended the bridge.
"Got it hot at fifteen hundred feet," he explained. "My pilot was
winged. Hit twice, I believe. Luckily the old bird kept fairly steady
until I could clamber into the pilot's seat and take control. Rough
luck, too. We were just doing a useful bit of spotting. I suppose,
sir, there's no one on board who can handle a 'plane?"
"I'm afraid not," replied Captain Syllenger.
"Rough luck!" exclaimed the Sub despondently. Then, brightening up, he
asked:
"Can you lend me a 'wireless' man? I could take on the pilot's job."
"Our man's knocked out," said the skipper.
"That's done it!" exclaimed the Sub. "There's a particularly tough
battery that I wanted to see knocked out. No. 5 was almost on it when
we got it hot."
Ross was thinking rapidly and deeply. He knew the Morse code well. He
had dabbled in wireless telegraphy at school. Perhaps----
He felt that it was almost too impertinent to offer his services, yet
the matter was urgent. It was dangerous, too, most dangerous; but the
midshipman had learnt to place duty before personal consideration.
"Well?" asked Captain Syllenger as Trefusis stepped up and saluted
smartly.
"I'll go if I can be of any assistance, sir," said Ross. "I can Morse
and use a buzzer, and I have a knowledge of wireless."
"Carry on, then," replied Captain Syllenger.
"Good man!" exclaimed the Flight-Sub-lieutenant. "Can you stick
heights?"
"I've done a lot of cliff climbing--I am a Cornishman, you know," said
Trefusis. "I haven't had a chance of flying before."
"You have now!" added the Flight-Sub.