It was a dark night with no moon, while only occasionally could a star
be seen from the leader's bridge. The next astern could be made out by
the bands of blue-white phosphorescence that fell away from her bow,
but the rest of the line was quite invisible. The flotilla slid along
at a pace that to them was only a jog-trot, but which would have been
considered rather too exciting for night work by the big ships. The
night was calm, with hardly a breath of wind, while the
_hush_--_hush_--_hush_ from the bow-waves seemed to accentuate the
silence and to increase the impression the destroyers gave of game
moving down on a tiptoe of expectancy to the drinking-pool, ready at a
sight or sound to spring to a frenzy of either offensive or defensive
speed. On the leader's bridge men spoke in low tones, as if afraid
that they might be overheard by the enemy--actually to enable them to
listen better to whatever sound the echoes from the sea might carry.
On bridges and at gun-stations look-outs stared out around them at the
night, and there was no need for the officers to be anxious as to
whether their men kept good watch or slept. The crews knew the rules
of destroyer-war in the Narrow Seas--that "The first one to see,
shoots; and the first one to hit, wins." It is true that they did not
always see first. There were exceptions. Not so long before, they had
been seen at a range of perhaps half a mile by an officer on the low
unobtrusive conning-tower of a submarine. This officer had instantly
and accurately smitten on the back of the head the sailor who shared
his watch, and had rapped out one word "_Down!_" The sailor (evidently
quite accustomed to this procedure) had vanished down the
conning-tower like a falling stone, the officer's boots chasing the
man's hands down the ladder-rungs. The lid had clanked down and
locked just a few seconds before a little "plop" of water closed over
the swirling suction that showed where a big patrol submarine had
been. The boat was English (that is to say, her Captain was Scotch,
and her First Lieutenant Canadian, while the remainder of her officers
and men together could hardly have mustered half a dozen men from the
Home Counties), but she had no intention of risking explanations at
short range with her own friends. She had been warned of their coming,
but she looked on it as a piece of extraordinarily bad luck to have
been met with at visibility range on such a dark night and to have
been inconvenienced into a matter of ninety feet in a hurry. But it is
known that submarines dive for almost everything and swear at everybody.
As the flotilla moved on its way a portent showed on the bow to
landward. A faint red glow began to light up the low clouds over the
Belgian frontier, and the bridge look-outs whispered together as they
watched it brighten. As it grew clearer it showed to be not one
light, but a rapid-running succession of instantaneous lights far
inland. The white pencil of a searchlight beam showed and swung to the
zenith and back--perhaps half-way between the watchers and the flicker
in the sky. Ten minutes later, as the light drew farther aft, a faint
murmur of sound (that began as a mere suspicion, and grew to be
unmistakably but barely audible) announced the origin of the glow.
On the leader's bridge the tall officer in the overcoat spoke to the
shorter one in the "lammy." "That's a bit on the big side for a night
raid--they must be attacking round by----"
"Yes, sir; there's something like what they call 'drum-fire' going on.
Wonder why they put searchlights on for it, though?"
"Can't guess. They'll have 'em on on the coast in a minute too, if I
know them. Perhaps when they hear guns inland they think it's airbombs
coming down. There they go! Two of 'em----"
The searchlights came on together, and on such a clear and dark night
they seemed startlingly close. They swept the heavens over and back,
steadied awhile pointing inland, and went out again, leaving an even
inkier blackness than before, and setting the watchers blinking and
rubbing their dazzled eyes. Away to the south-east the pulsating growl
of the guns continued, though the breadth and height of the glow in
the sky was gradually decreasing.
"There isn't any fighting on near the coast now, sir. That must be
away down in France. If they'd only fire slow we'd be able to get a
sort of range by the flash."
"You'd have to hold your watch for some time, then," said the taller
officer. "I haven't the inland geography well enough in my head to say
where it is, but that scrap's nearer seventy than sixty miles from
here. Good Lord! And I suppose we'll read in the papers when we get in
that 'there was activity at some points.'"
"And from here it looks like Hell. What it must be like close to----!
Wish we could run up one of the canals and join in, sir."
"You'd be too late if we could. It's dying out now. Just as well, too;
it keeps all the look-outs' heads turned that way. How's the time? All
right, we'll turn now and try back."
The glow faded and passed, and left the velvety dark as blank as
before. The leader swung round on a wide curve, and, as if held by one
long elastic hawser, the flotilla followed in her gleaming wake. At
the same cantering speed as they had come, they started on the long
beat back of their bloodthirsty prowl, at the moment when the Scotch
submarine officer turned over the watch to his Canadian subordinate.
"I've sheered right out now, and they ought to be clear of us all
right, but keep your eyes skinned for them and nip under if you see
them again. They're devilish quick on the salvoes in this longitude,
and 'pon my soul I don't blame 'em either."