When the four Navy Boys and their friends came over the summit of the
hill behind the English seaport which the Zeppelin had so recently
raided and where it had come to grief, the bomb-set fires in the town
had become controlled. Even the conflagration at the point where the
Zeppelin had fallen was now entirely smothered.
Fortunately neither the marine hospital nor the port admiral’s
headquarters had been hit by the Hun bombs. The first named was crowded
with refugees from merchant ships sunk by the Hun submarines or blown up
by floating mines. Almost daily the remnants of the unfortunate crews
were brought in; for by this time the Germans had begun shelling the
boats as they escaped from sinking ships, striving to carry out their
master’s orders, “that no trace be left” of such breaking of the
international law agreed to long since by all civilized nations.
But if the hospital was not hit, damage enough had been done in all good
conscience. The crowds were gone from about the wrecked Zeppelin and
from the bombed schoolhouse. The shelling of open boats at sea was not a
greater crime than the indiscriminate dropping of bombs on this
unfortified town; and the wiping out of that school teacher and her
pupils could never be forgotten. Phil Morgan turned his eyes away from
the place, shuddering as he thought of the horror.
“Let’s go down to the admiral’s station--there where his white ensign
flies--and report about the spy escaping from us,” Whistler said.
“And explain how he’s dressed,” Al Torrance added. “For let me tell you,
that chap, speaking English and all, and dressed like one of us Yanks,
will cause a lot of trouble.”
“I’d like to get something decent to put on myself,” grumbled George
Belding.
“Tee, hee!” giggled Ikey Rosenmeyer. “You don’t look any more like one
of these farmers than nothin’ at all!”
“Must say,” grinned Whistler, “the clothes don’t become you, George.”
“You go fish!” snapped the unfortunate. “I hate to show up aboard and
face--who’s your boss, Lieutenant Commander Lang, isn’t it?”
“Cracky! Yes,” Al said. “And you are billed for the old _Colodia_? Say,
the boys will give you a welcome!”
“How did you come to get billeted to the _Colodia_?” Whistler Morgan
asked curiously. “You came over on your father’s yacht?”
“No,” said Belding, quietly. “I didn’t say that. I joined the crew of
the one-time _Sirius_ because when I arrived in England your old
_Colodia_ was out scrapping with the part of the Hun fleet that tried to
make a break.”
“Oh, yes,” said Whistler. “We were in that fight; but we were on the
_Kennebunk_.”
“And our gun made the first hit and we sunk a Hun battleship!” cried Al.
“Huh!” scoffed Frenchy, “you listen to Al and Whistler, and you’d think
their old gun fought the whole battle.”
“Did you fellows really help work a gun in that fight?” cried George
Belding, in amazement and admiration. Even the giant British seaman
gazed at the Navy Boys with increased respect.
“We were in the fight, and we belonged to one of the gun crews,”
admitted Whistler. “But we are willing to agree that we did not do it
all. Frenchy and Ikey were there.”
Belding laughed. “Well, let’s go along to the admiral’s, and I’ll tell
you how I came to get billeted on the _Colodia_. Uncle Sam is training
more men than he has boats for--yet. But the _Colodia’s_ lost several of
her crew, hasn’t she, from one cause or another?”
“Of course. And are you a ‘filler-in’?” said Whistler.
“Guess so. I came over expecting to go right aboard the destroyer, as I
say. But I had to wait for her to come back from the North Sea. And
there was the old _Sirius_, with a chap in command that I knew. So I got
a chance to take a trip. We took out a convoy bound westward; and on the
way back we had a scrap with a sub.”
“Did you sink her?” asked Frenchy eagerly.
“We did something to it. The boys said they knew she was a goner. Oil
and litter rose to the surface after we dropped a depth bomb. I’m sorry
for her crew; but they are in bad business.”
“Don’t yuh be too bloomin’ sorry for the filthy ’Uns,” growled Willum
Johnson.
“Say, Big Bill,” sang out Frenchy, “don’t you be so bloodthirsty. You
are a regular tiger--to hear you talk.”
“Don’t forget them school kids down there,” replied the man, shaking his
head.
Whistler had hoped to put the memory of the innocents butchered by the
Zeppelin out of his memory for a few minutes. He shuddered, and led the
way into the head of one of the steep streets, lined on either side by
white painted cottages.
The streets leading down to the harbor were so steep that Al said he
always felt like putting out his hands to brace himself against the
walls of the little houses as they went down.
The boys grew silent when they heard the weeping and wailing from inside
the houses. Here the children had lived who were so mangled in the
explosion of the Hun bomb. The destruction below in the middle of the
town could not have been so bad, for there were few women and children
there. This was not market day.
It scarcely seemed possible that the raid should have been accomplished
and done so much damage ashore three hours before. The harbor lay
peacefully enough now in the last light of the setting sun. The ships of
the merchant fleet, all camouflaged most fantastically, lay swinging at
their moorings. There were several gray cruisers and a number of
destroyers, for this was a busy port. Both foodstuffs and troops were
landed here. The destroyers were all so painted that one could scarcely
be distinguished from another. Only the four Navy Boys knew just where
the _Colodia_ was anchored.
The party arrived at the admiral’s station and were stopped by the
sentinel at the gate. The admiral was not at his desk, for he was out
viewing the damage the bombs had done, and to interview the prisoners
brought in.
But there was an officer who heard the boys’ report and thanked them for
what they had tried to do. George Belding gave a complete description of
the daring spy who had landed from the Zeppelin. It was pretty sure that
he and Whistler Morgan would know the fellow if they ever came
face-to-face with him again.
The ex-coster would have to face punishment when he got aboard his ship.
“Hit’s me for the dungeon,” was the way he expressed his expectation of
spending some time in the ship’s brig. “Good-bye, lads,” he said on
parting from the Americans. “Yuh’re a bloomin’ bunch o’ sports, that’s
wot’ yuh his. There’s no manner o’ doubt you Hamericans is hall right.”
“And you are all right, Bill, when you are sober,” George Belding said
rather grumpily. “I hope I’ll never meet you again when you have been
indulging in liquor.”
He said this with feeling; but Big Bill only grinned. “You’ll ’ave to
visit me haboard ship, lad,” he said, shaking his head. “Wot’s bred hin
the bone his bloomin’ ’ard to change, hand don’t yuh forget hit!”
George Belding merely grunted. He was in no pleasant mood because of the
“hick” costume, as Frenchy called it, which he was obliged to wear
aboard ship. The ridiculous garments and shoes occasioned much hilarity
when they reached the _Colodia’s_ launch.
“Hey! what you got there? Going to bring a cow along for him to milk?”
was the jocular demand.
Isa Bopp, who would never be anything but a greenhorn himself, no matter
how long he was at sea, demanded:
“Where did you fellers pick up that farmer?”
“Farmer yourself!” whispered Ikey behind the sharp of his hand. “It’s
the port admiral in disguise. He’s going aboard to see Commander Lang on
a secret mission. Something big’s coming off, Isa.”
“There’ll be something big come off when he shucks them shoes,” chuckled
Bopp.
Meanwhile Phil Morgan was explaining to the petty officer in charge of
the launch just who George Belding was, and how he came to be without a
uniform. Belding would otherwise have had trouble getting aboard the
_Colodia_, without his papers that the spy had run away with.
The loiterers were soon brought in by the guard and the launch put off
for the destroyer. It was dark when they arrived at the _Colodia_.
Ensign MacMasters, the Navy Boys’ very good friend, was at the gangway,
and he passed Belding on Whistler’s word. Phil and the new boy went at
once to Commander Lang.
It was eight bells, and the anchor watch was just being mustered. There
was no searchlight or signal drills on this evening because of the air
raid. There might be other Zeppelins in the fog that hung over the sea.
The boys coming aboard at once swung their hammocks and had a chance
before the first call at 8:55 to visit around with their friends and
swap experiences. Of course, everybody was excited over the air raid;
but nobody had been in the thick of it as had Philip Morgan and his
chums.
As there is no smoking allowed below the main deck after 7:30 p. m. the
lads could gather on the berth deck and talk until the first anchor
watch was set. Then the thrill of the boatswain’s pipe called for
silence on the berth deck and the boys that were not on watch or already
in their hammocks prepared swiftly to be under covers when taps was
sounded at five minutes past nine.
But on this night, almost immediately after nine o’clock, there was a
chattering of the wireless. The boys on watch saw the messenger dash
along the deck from the wireless station with the message for the
commander.
A murmur passed from group to group about the main deck of the
destroyer. It even seeped below, and the boys who were not yet asleep
heard the whisper.
Orders! Something of moment afoot that had not been expected; for the
_Colodia_ was not supposed to leave port till the next day.
Whistler, whose watch it was, almost stumbled against Ensign MacMasters
in the waist of the ship. It was the ensign’s own fault, for he was on
the starboard side.
“Hello, my boy!” he said to Phil. “Heard the news?”
“I know there is news, sir,” said Whistler. “But I don’t know what it
is.”
“You’ll all know soon. We’ll up anchor and sail in half an hour. Orders
from the port admiral. He has got information from the prisoners that
there may be another Zeppelin fallen in the sea outside. They saw her
fall, and it may be possible for us to rescue some of her company.”
“More of the baby-killing Heinies?” exclaimed Whistler.
“Ah, well, we have to be merciful,” said the ensign. “They were obeying
their orders. We must obey ours.”
“But you know, Mr. MacMasters,” said Morgan earnestly, “if our superiors
ordered us to commit the crimes the Huns commit, there would be mighty
few of us who would obey orders.”
“Aye, aye, my lad,” sighed the older man. “But remember we have not
lived under Prussian masters all our lives. We have different teaching
and different ideals, thank God!”
In ten minutes the whole ship’s company was making ready for departure.