"Excellent," smiled the commander. "You have your wits abou

Produced by Al Haines.

[Illustration: "The boy was brought alongside and lifted to the grating"

(Page 34)]

*DREADNOUGHTS

OF THE DOGGER*

_*A Story of the War on the

North Sea*_

BY

*ROBERT LEIGHTON*

_Author of "The Golden Galleon," "The Thirsty Sword," etc._

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

LONDON AND MELBOURNE

1916

_Made and printed in Great Britain by_

WARD, LOCK & Co., LIMITED, LONDON.

*CONTENTS.*

CHAPTER

I.--WHAT'S BRED IN THE BONE

II.--THE PERIL OF THE SILVER PIT

III.--WATCHERS OF THE SEA

IV.--THE MENACE OF THE MINES

V.--UNDER THE SYCAMORE

VI.--WHAT MARK FOUND IN THE PIGEON LOFT

VII.--UNDER THE WHITE ENSIGN

VIII.--HOW MARK MADE HIMSELF SMALL

IX.--AN EXPERT IN MINE-SWEEPING

X.--DARBY CATCHPOLE'S DISCOVERY

XI.--THE ESCAPE

XII.--A FLEET IN HIDING

XIII.--THE GERMAN ADMIRAL

XIV.--BRAVE AS A BRITON

XV.--TREASURE TROVE

XVI.--THE BOMB-PROOF SHELTER

XVII.--TOLD THROUGH THE TELEPHONE

XVIII.--A SHRIMPING ADVENTURE

XIX.--U50

XX.--PUT TO THE TEST

XXI.--THE RAIDERS

XXII.--CUT AND RUN

XXIII.--STRIKING THE BALANCE

XXIV.--THE MEETING ON THE CLIFF

XXV.--MAX HILLIGER'S SATISFACTION

XXVI.--THE GUIDING LIGHT

XXVII.--SURVIVORS

XXVIII.--THE WAY TO CALAIS

XXIX.--MAX MEETS THE ADMIRAL

XXX.--DREADNOUGHT AGAINST DREADNOUGHT

XXXI.--SUBMARINES AT WORK

XXXII.--U50'S WORST CRIME

XXXIII.--MAX RENOUNCES THE FATHERLAND

XXXIV.--THE SUPPLY SHIP

XXXV.--PRISONERS OF WAR

*DREADNOUGHTS OF

THE DOGGER.*

*CHAPTER I.*

*WHAT'S BRED IN THE BONE.*

The Scoutmaster paused in his work of opening a tin of condensed milk on

the top of a packing-case. Glancing upwards to the shoulder of the

cliff, he caught sight of a figure partly concealed beyond a dark clump

of gorse and bramble. He could see the shining brass tube of a

telescope beneath a naval cap. The telescope was levelled at the

slate-grey shape of a light cruiser riding at anchor in Haddisport

Roads, abreast of the camp.

"Your brother's out early, Redisham," said the Scoutmaster, turning

again to the milk tin. "I hope he'll come down to us. I expect he can

tell us a lot about that cruiser out there. He looks well in his

cadet's uniform!"

Mark Redisham was bending over the fire, frying eggs and bacon. Some of

his companions were in the tent, dressing after their morning swim,

while others of the patrol were variously occupied in preparing the camp

breakfast.

"Yes, sir," he answered. "Lucky chap, isn't he? I envy him being in

the navy. And he's more than a cadet now, Mr. Bilverstone. He's a

full-fledged midshipman--or soon will be, when he steps aboard his

ship."

One of the Sea Scouts near to him, a tall, loose-limbed youth with a

budding moustache, stood watching the lithe young fellow in naval

uniform, now approaching with his telescope under his arm.

"Lucky?" he repeated with a sneer. "I don't see where the luck comes

in. I don't envy him."

"Indeed!" said Mark. "You don't envy a chap who is going to be an

officer in the British Navy? Why? Oh, but I was forgetting----"

Most of the Sea Scouts in the Lion Patrol were in the habit of

overlooking the fact that Max Hilliger was not British. He had been

amongst them so long, first as a playfellow, then as a Scout, that they

had almost come to think of him as a native of Haddisport. In reality,

he was a German, his father, Heinrich Hilliger, being German Vice-Consul

in the port, as well as a wealthy fish merchant, doing a big business

with Germany.

"Why?" Max repeated, shrugging his shoulders. "It isn't good enough.

You fellows are always boasting about your British Navy, as if it were

the only fleet on the seas. You seem to forget that Germany has a navy

as good, if not better." He laughed derisively. "You'll discover your

mistake if Germany and England come to grips. Your boasted navy'll be

licked into a cocked hat. Half your cruisers are only fit to be

scrapped. Those that are not obsolete couldn't hold their own against

the Kaiser's High Sea Fleet."

Here a diversion was caused by the arrival of Midshipman Rodney

Redisham, who shook hands with Mr. Bilverstone, and nodded recognition

to such of the patrol as he remembered.

"You've grown, Catchpole," he said to one, "and you, too, Quester.

Hullo, Max, you here? You've changed since we met last."

"Max has just been arguing that the Kaiser's Fleet is better than ours,"

remarked the Scout master.

"Germany has some jolly good fighting ships," acknowledged the

midshipman; "but I believe our guns have a longer range, and, of course,

we've got more ships."

Max Hilliger seemed disposed to dispute the point, but at that moment

there came to the sharp ears of the Scouts a peculiar buzzing sound from

beyond the houses on the cliff. All eyes were turned expectantly

skyward in the one direction. Presently an aeroplane appeared above the

trees, and, sinking rapidly, skimmed the level ground of the denes, and

alighted like a great bird on a patch of grass within fifty yards of the

camp.

At a word from Mr. Bilverstone, two of the Scouts ran forward; but they

had hardly reached the machine before the pilot had leapt to his feet.

"Don't handle anything, boys," he said, pushing his goggles up over his

forehead. "She's all right. But I see there's a crowd of people on the

cliff. They'll be coming down to nose around. Keep guard here, while I

step along to your camp and get some warmth into me."

Rodney Redisham strode forward to meet him, and, seeing the two gold

stripes on his sleeve, greeted him with a very formal naval salute.

"Why, it's Lieutenant Aldiss!" he cried. "Where have you come from,

sir?"

"Dover," returned the officer. "And what are you doing here? Why

aren't you in your ship? Any news?"

"News?" Redisham repeated. "Do you mean about the ultimatum to

Germany?"

"Yes, of course. Is it to be war?"

"I don't know. It looks precious like it. But we haven't heard yet."

"It's beastly cold up there this morning," said the lieutenant,

indicating the sky. "Have these Scouts got any hot coffee? Ah, I see

one of them is fetching some. That's nice."

"But won't you come up to my home and have a proper breakfast, sir?"

Rodney invited. "It's that red house with the tower, on the cliff."

Lieutenant Aldiss shook his head.

"Thank you, but I'm due at Buremouth at eight o'clock," he explained,

and, taking the steaming cup which Max Hilliger had brought to him, he

added: "So you're appointed to the _Atreus_, out there, are you?"

Rodney looked across at the grey-painted cruiser.

"Yes," he answered proudly, "I am to join to-day."

In the meantime a crowd was gathering around the aeroplane, eager to see

it start on its renewed flight. A police-constable was approaching

hurriedly down the slope of the cliff, no doubt with the intention of

keeping off the curious crowd. As he came near to the camp, Rodney

Redisham called out to him:

"Any news, Challis?"

"News, sir," responded Constable Challis, producing a journal from the

front of his tunic, "I should just think so. Look here!" He opened the

newspaper. "England has declared war," he announced.

Lieutenant Aldiss gave a quick glance at the prominently printed lines,

handed his empty cup to Hilliger, and, swinging round, made a bee-line

for his aeroplane, accompanied by Rodney Redisham, who helped him to

start.

"Yes," continued Constable Challis, excitedly, "it's war--war against

Germany--war to the knife. We're going to be put to the test. It'll be

tough while it lasts. But you can take it from me, we shall win. We

shall sweep the Germans off the face of the seas, and make an end of

'em!"

"Not a bit of it!" cried Max Hilliger exultantly. "It will be the other

way about. Ha, ha! England's done for now! She's doomed. Every

cockboat in her rotten fleet will be sent to the bottom. D'you hear?

She's doomed! She'll be smashed--smashed like that!"

He dashed the empty cup in fury to the ground. There was a hearty burst

of laughter, for the cup fell upon the soft sand and was not even

cracked. Enraged at the failure of his illustration, and the laughter

which seemed to mock him, Max snatched his Sea Scout's cap from his head

and deliberately flung it full into the face of Mark Redisham.

Mark caught it with a quickly uplifted hand, and politely offered it

back to him.

"Don't make a silly ass of yourself," he smiled, "even if you have

become our enemy."

But instead of taking it, Hilliger turned away, strode sullenly to his

bicycle, mounted it, and rode off in the direction of the town and the

harbour.

*CHAPTER II.*

*THE PERIL OF THE SILVER PIT.*

"Ah, this is just what I like!" declared Mark Redisham from his elevated

perch on the trawler's windward bulwark. "It's heaps better than being

ashore in camp!"

Darby Catchpole, seated beside him, clapped his feet together in

delight.

"It's lovely," he agreed; "I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

They were far out on the blue waters of the North Sea, steaming towards

the fishing grounds of the Dogger Bank in the trawler _What's Wanted_,

an entirely new craft, owned by Catchpole's father and now making her

first working trip.

"It's a pity none of the other chaps are with us," regretted Redisham.

"You needn't be sorry Max Hilliger isn't here," Darby responded. "He

turned ridiculously crusty yesterday morning when the constable spoke

about our beating the Germans. I suppose it was natural, since he's a

German himself. Of course, he couldn't have stopped in the troop, even

if he'd wanted to, being one of the enemy. But he might have had the

grace to pay his debts. Mr. Bilverstone will never get the three

shillings he owed him."

"Why? Max hasn't left the town, has he?"

"Yes, he has. He went off by the afternoon tide in that Dutch ketch

that has been lying in the Roads so long. I suppose we've seen the last

of him."

Redisham glanced round the wide stretch of sea, as if in search of the

ketch, but there was no sign of her.

Darby jumped down from his perch, and Mark followed him aft, past the

wheel-house, to find the skipper giving instructions for the trawl to be

put out. They were now near the fishing grounds of the Silver Pit, a

favourite spot for longshore soles and turbot.

When the trawling gear was out, the skipper and his two guests went

below for breakfast in the tiny compartment which did service as a

cabin. In taking his seat at the narrow flap table, Mark Redisham had to

make room for himself by removing a gun. He examined the weapon, and,

recognising it, looked across at Darby Catchpole.

"Why on earth have you brought your fowling-piece with you?" he asked in

surprise. "Do you expect that you may need to defend yourself against

the enemy?"

Darby laughed.

"No," he explained. "I told you once that I'm helping to complete the

collection of East Coast birds for the Haddisport Museum. They don't

possess a specimen of the common or North Sea tern. I thought perhaps I

might get one."

He took his fowling-piece on deck with him. There were many sea

birds--gannets, mews, and fulmars--flying about, but the graceful sea

swallow was absent, and he transferred his interest to the work of

hauling in the trawl.

The first take was disappointing; the second more fortunate. Time after

time the gear was brought in, and gradually a considerable number of

fish accumulated.

Redisham had brought with him a pair of marine glasses, of which he was

especially proud. They were particularly powerful, and he was

constantly testing them by trying to read the names on distant ships.

At about nine o'clock he was idly searching the horizon, when his

attention was arrested by a strange sail to the far north-east.

"Darby!" he cried. "There's that Dutch ketch! Have a look at her."

Darby took up the skipper's telescope from the top of the skylight and

adjusted the focus.

"Yes," he agreed, after a while. "It's the same, no doubt. I know her

by her weatherboard. But what's she up to? She's bang in the track of

the steamer bearing down on her! Hullo! The steamer's stopped! Wait a

bit. The Dutchman's putting out a boat."

The two Scouts watched what was going on across the sea--the rowing boat

pulling alongside the steamship and returning to the ketch, having

apparently disposed of some of its passengers.

Why should this transfer of passengers be made in the open sea? And had

Max Hilliger anything to do with it?

Mark made out the steamer to be a vessel of about 2,000 tons. She had

two cream-coloured funnels, and was furnished with many lifeboats and

deckhouses, like a liner. He tried to read her name, but it was hidden

by the anchor chain. It satisfied him, however, that she was flying the

Red Ensign, and he took no further notice of her as she continued on her

course south by west.

Shortly afterwards he was startled by the report of Darby's

fowling-piece.

"Got him!" cried Catchpole. "It's a tern."

Darby was a good shot, and he had brought down the bird, which had

fluttered into the sea hardly a score of yards from the trawler's

starboard side.

The skipper made no demur when asked to reverse the engines. The boat

was lowered, and Darby secured his prize. But his disappointment was

great when he discovered that the bird was not a tern, or a web-footed

sea bird of any species, but an ordinary domestic pigeon. He was on the

point of casting it back into the sea when Redisham checked him.

"Wait!" cried Mark. "Which way was it flying?"

Darby looked at him in perplexity.

"What's your idea?" he questioned. "It was flying from north-east to

south-west."

"Just what I guessed," returned Mark, with a significant nod. "It was

going towards Haddisport from the Dutch ketch. It's one of Max

Hilliger's pigeons. Let's have a look at it."

They examined the dead bird, and sure enough they discovered a strip of

thin paper bandaged round one of the legs. The writing upon it was in

minute shorthand.

"It's German!" declared Mark. "We must give it up to some naval officer

to translate. I'll keep it in my pocket-book, shall I--till we get

home?"

"Perhaps it came off the steamer, and not the ketch," suggested Darby.

They turned to look for the steamship, and saw her steaming southward,

across their own wake. Although she was many miles away, it was possible

now to distinguish her name, for the sunlight was upon her. They

spelled out the words _Minna von Barnhelm_.

"Why, she's a German!" cried Mark, "and now she's flying the German

naval ensign! Hullo! That's queer! There's something gone wrong with

her. She's sprung a leak, surely! She's jettisoning her cargo. Have a

squint at her!"

A large, dark object, like a cask or packing case, fell with a light

splash into the sea under the steamer's counter. It seemed to have

dropped from an inclined plank put out under her taffrail. She was

going slowly while this was being done, but presently she put on steam

and moved off, gathering speed, and was soon a mere speck in the far

south.

The _What's Wanted_ now altered her course to the westward, steered by

Mark Redisham, for the two Sea Scouts were allowed to take each a spell

at the wheel.

During every moment they were learning something new. What Darby

enjoyed as much as anything was to work the winch which hauled in the

loaded trawl; but always when the gear was brought inboard there was the

excitement of emptying the pocket of the net and seeing what varieties

of fish and strange marine creatures had been dredged up.

Darby was at the winch one moment, while Mark was pricking off the

trawler's course on the chart, when the mate at the stern shouted

excitedly:

"Belay there! Stop the winch, sir! Hold hard. We've fetched up a bit

of wreck!"

Mark Redisham ran aft and looked over the side. The trawl beam was

against the quarter bulwark, and a curious big, oval object, which at

first glance looked like the back of a huge fish, was jammed between the

beam and the vessel's side.

Mark leant over, and looked at the thing more closely; then he leapt

back, trembling from head to foot.

"Steady all!" he cried hoarsely. "Don't move that winch, Darby! For

the life of you, keep it still! Leave it, and come here--quick!"

Darby, the skipper, the mate, the engineer, the whole crew went up to

him, staring at the thing which had so filled him with alarm. He alone

seemed to know what it was.

"Stand back!" he cried. "Don't touch it! Don't go near it! It's a

mine--a contact mine! If it's moved only an inch there'll be an

explosion. See those spikes on the top of it? They're the detonators.

One of them's resting on the rail! If it breaks--it's glass--if it

breaks, we're all done for!"

The skipper, pocketing his pipe, looked through screwed-up eyes into the

boy's face.

"Any c'nection with this yer war, Mester Redisham?" he coolly inquired.

"It has every connection with it," Mark answered calmly.

He went cautiously nearer to examine the exact position of the mine. It

was balanced on its own circumference, held against the side by the

trawl board; but every slightest movement of the ship threatened to

explode it.

"We can't cut it away," he decided. He turned to the mate. "Dick," he

ordered, "launch the boat very carefully and let us all quit."

Fortunately the boat was at the farther end, hanging outward from the

davits. Mark advised the skipper exactly what to do. He pointed out

that by passing a warp round the trawl gear and hauling upon it from

seaward the mine might be released and slip back into the sea. This was

the only chance, and in case it should fail, every one was to get into

the boat.

He was himself the last to leave the ship. They took the longest rope,

and, rowing round, contrived at great risk to lash an end of it to the

lower extremity of the trawl beam. Four men were at the oars. Paying

out the rope over the stern as they rowed away, they hauled upon it

until it became fairly taut.

"Steady!" commanded the skipper. "Back 'er a bit--belay--row

starboard!"

He manoeuvred the boat until the pull of the rope was at the proper

angle, then the tension was slowly tightened. The trawl beam swayed

very slightly at first; but suddenly there was a heavy jerk, the mine

moved, but it was not dislodged. Mark Redisham saw one of the detonators

bending.

"Look out!" he shouted.

Instantly the air and sea together were torn by a terrific crash, which

must have been heard a score of miles away. In that instant Mark saw

the whole fabric of the trawler burst open. The boat heaved under him,

and he was flung forward, stunned and unconscious.

*CHAPTER III.*

*WATCHERS OF THE SEA.*

The sound of that explosion carried its warning far over the fishing

grounds of the Silver Pit. It reached tramps and colliers plying their

ceaseless traffic along the coast. Nearer at hand it alarmed the crew

of the trawler _Mignonette_, who saw the column of smoke and wreckage

shot skyward as from the crater of a volcano, and who, regardless of

their own danger from floating mines, hastened to the spot to pick up

the dazed survivors huddled together in the open boat. It reached the

officers and men on a patrol of destroyers speeding northward within

sight of the English shores. On the cruiser _Atreus_ it was distinctly

heard, coming like a challenge across the waves.

"Oho!" exclaimed the astonished commander, arresting his pacing of the

quarter-deck. "Gunfire, eh? Hostilities are opening even earlier than

we expected!"

He stood by the binnacle, listening for a second "boom."

"Seemed to me almost more like the explosion of a contact mine than a

gun, sir," ventured the signal lieutenant, halting beside him.

"A mine?" protested the commander. "No, no, impossible! We have laid

no mines. It is not in our programme to lay mines; and certainly not on

the high seas. The enemy cannot have laid any, either--not over here;

not so promptly, hardly thirty hours after the declaration of war. It

cannot have been a mine. And yet there was only one detonation. If it

had been a naval gun, it would have been answered. However, we shall

soon know. We must go and see. Send out the signal to change course

eight points to starboard."

It chanced that Rodney Redisham was midshipman of the watch, and that it

fell to him to help in transmitting this signal.

With the precision of a battalion of soldiers at drill, the flotilla of

destroyers and their guide ship wheeled first into line abreast

formation and then into line ahead. The _Atreus_, which before had been

leading, now held the rear station, following in the wake of the

destroyers; and it was in this order that they appeared an hour later

when sighted by Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole from the deck of the

_Mignonette_.

Mark was unhurt, excepting for a few bruises about the shins. Darby had

a scar across his fore-head, and the skipper's head was badly cut; the

mate's right arm was fractured, and all others of the crew had tested

Mark's skill in first-aid. But they had escaped with their lives, even

though the _What's Wanted_ had disappeared.

"The blamed Germans!" complained the skipper, nursing his bandaged head.

"And it was her maiden trip! The mean cowards to come sneakin' over

here a-sowin' of their mines on the open sea for harmless fishin' craft

to run foul of! 'T'aren't accordin' to any fightin' rules as ever I've

heard on. 'T'aren't fightin' at all, nor honest warfare, look at it how

you will!"

As the destroyers drew nearer, Mark Redisham grew more and more

apprehensive lest they should run into the unsuspected danger of the

mine-field, and he wanted to warn them of their peril. He urged the

engineer to put on more steam and get close up, so that they might see

their signals.

Already he had hoisted a flag signifying "I want to speak to you," and

Darby was busy fashioning a pair of semaphore flags.

When the flotilla was near enough, Darby went to the steam whistle and

opened the valve, giving a long, shrill blast to attract attention;

following it with short and long blasts in the Morse code to form the

message:

"You are running into danger. Steamer flying German ensign has been

laying mines. Trawler sunk. Survivors on board me."

At the same time, Mark, taking the two flags, climbed upon the

wheel-house, and, standing firmly, began to wave them, signalling very

rapidly.

For a long time there was no response; but unknown to him, the leading

destroyer had flashed its wireless message back to the cruiser.

Presently the whole line came to a stop, and Mark saw that the semaphore

on the _Atreus_ was at work, questioning him. He answered, telling the

whole story of the German mine-layer, and the loss of the _What's

Wanted_.

Even while he was speaking, the motor-pinnace of the cruiser was

launched, and the message came to him:

"If you, the Sea Scout, who are signalling, are one of the

survivors, come aboard us immediately. Let your shipmates be

taken into Haddisport."

Mark was not altogether surprised when he saw that the midshipman in

charge of the pinnace was his own brother Rodney. They shook hands as

he stepped into the stern sheets, but preserved a discreet silence

before the men.

Saluting the quarter-deck as they boarded the _Atreus_, Mark found

himself face to face with a group of officers. He advanced towards the

commander.

"If you will lend me a chart, sir," he began, "I will show you exactly

the way the mine-layer went. She has been sowing mines all along her

track."

A chart was at once opened on top of the skylight, and with a pencil

Mark traced as nearly as he could the _Minna von Barnhelm's_ course,

from the time when he first saw her until she disappeared.

"It was just here where she began laying mines," he explained,

indicating the spot, "about three miles to the east of where we are now.

If you keep well to the westward, you will escape them, sir. But I

can't say which way she steered after we lost sight of her."

"Of course not," nodded the commander. "You have done very well as it

is. I'm tremendously obliged to you for the information."

He turned to his officers and gave orders for the squadron to proceed at

full speed in pursuit, handing the navigation officer the marked chart.

"There's another thing," resumed Mark, fumbling in his pocket-book, and

producing the strip of paper taken from Darby Catchpole's pigeon. He

explained how he had come by it, adding: "It seems to be written in

German shorthand. Perhaps you will take charge of it, sir."

"Excellent," smiled the commander. "You have your wits about you, my

lad. You have acted with commendable good sense and promptitude. This

matter of the mine-field is most important. What is your name?"

"Redisham, sir--Mark Redisham. I am the brother of Midshipman

Redisham."

"Indeed! Oh, then, just see if you can find him, and tell him from me

to look after you until I want you again. Tell him he may show you over

the ship!"

For a couple of hours or so Mark was in his glory going about the

cruiser, examining the engines, the guns, the torpedo-tubes, inquiring

into the mechanism of the water-tight doors, visiting the seamen's

quarters, the conning-tower, and even watching the stokers at their grim

work.

As they returned to the deck, a petty officer touched Mark's elbow.

"Captain Damant wishes you to go up to him on the bridge," he said.

Mark found his way, and climbed up to the commander's side.

"Take my binoculars and have a look at the steamer yonder," the

commander told him, "and see if you identify her."

"I can identify her without the binoculars, sir," returned Mark. "It's

the _Minna von Barnhelm_."

"Good," nodded Captain Damant. "I wanted to be sure. You can go now.

Go and make yourself as small as you can in that corner of the

conning-tower, and watch our destroyers. Don't be alarmed at the

noise."

The destroyers were now stretched far in advance of the cruiser, bearing

down upon the German in line ahead. Hardly had Mark settled himself in

his corner, when the foremost of them fired a shot across the bows of

the mine-layer.

The _Minna von Barnhelm_ at once answered from small guns mounted on her

upper deck, her shells falling short. Each of the destroyers fired a

shot in turn, and every shot got home.

Within a few moments the mine-layer showed the terrible effects of the

British guns. Her after-funnel fell over; one of her ventilators

followed; her bridge was torn to shreds, and her top works were wrecked.

For a while it seemed to Mark that she was going to be left with this

punishment, for the destroyers were continuing on their course, passing

her on their port-beam. But presently he saw the immense four-inch guns

of the _Atreus_ herself being trained upon her from the forward

barbette. Mark held his breath and waited, watching the long steel

tubes moving as easily as if they were mere muskets taking aim.

Suddenly from one of them there was a great gush of fire and smoke, a

staggering, deafening roar, which shook the whole ship, and a monster

lyddite shell struck the _Minna von Barnhelm_ on her quarter, exploding

there with terrific violence.

Mark saw the gaping hole which it tore in the steamer's hull, and he

knew that no further shots would be needed. She was sinking by the

stern, the men at the same time leaping into the sea.

The British ships, with one accord, converged towards her, and from each

of them boats were being launched to pick up the survivors. The

_Atreus_ was the nearest, and just as her first boat pushed off the

_Minna von Barnhelm_ heeled over, shuddered, and sank in a riot of foam.

Mark and Rodney Redisham stood together at the gangway of the cruiser as

the first boatload of survivors were brought on board.

As the last of them came up the ladder, it was seen that he was hardly

more than a boy, wearing a fisherman's guernsey and heavy sea boots. He

held up his head unashamed, almost insolently.

"Why, it's Max!" Rodney Redisham exclaimed.

Max Hilliger stared at the two brothers, a spasm of hatred on his face.

He clenched his fist to strike at one of them, when a couple of seamen,

with a loaded stretcher, marched in between.

The Germans were at once led below to have their wounds dressed, and to

be provided with dry clothing.

"You had better slip down to the petty officers' mess now, Mark, and get

some grub," Rodney advised. "I will see you later on. We're going into

Haddisport, I believe, so you'll be put ashore. The destroyers are to

be sent off on another job, up north."

It was two or three hours before they again met. Mark had had dinner,

and was sitting chatting with a company of petty officers, when Rodney

came to him.

"You're wanted in the chart-room," he announced. "Come along!" And as

they were passing aft through one of the alley-ways, he added: "Captain

Damant has had that pigeon message translated, and it seems to be

important. He's going to ask you something about it."

Mark followed him up a flight of stairs to the deck.

At that moment there came a low, rumbling sound from under the bows of

the _Atreus_. Then the frightful, ear-splitting crash of an exploding

mine. A sheet of flame instantly enveloped the bridge. The vessel's back

seemed to be broken. She listed over to the port side with such a jerk

that all who were on deck were flung off their feet. Mark Redisham was

pitched bodily over a machine-gun and flung far out into the sea.

He sank down, down into the depths. It seemed an age before he felt

himself rising. At length, when he came to the surface, gasping, it was

to find the air filled with falling splinters and a dense yellow smoke

which almost choked him as he tried to breathe. He saw the doomed

cruiser some distance away settling down by the bows.

He looked around him. Most of the debris from the explosion had been of

metal and had sunk. But he caught sight of a floating spar. He swam

towards it. It was not large enough to support him, but it would help

to keep him afloat until the poisonous fumes should clear.

He reached it and stretched forth a hand to grasp it, when another

swimmer, coming behind him, shoved him violently aside and seized it.

Mark went under for a moment, rose again with his throat full of sea

water, and grabbed the nearer end of the spar. As he did so he saw the

other's face. It was the face of Max Hilliger.

They stared at each other. Both knew that one must yield.

"It's my life or yours," said Mark. "Which is it to be?"

*CHAPTER IV.*

*THE MENACE OF THE MINES.*

Hardly had Mark Redisham spoken the challenging words, when he realised

that even if Max Hilliger should choose to yield to him the coveted

chance of safety, he could not accept it. How could he afterwards

forgive himself if he saved his own life at the cost of another's--even

though that other were an enemy of his country?

The instinct of self-preservation was strong within him. He knew that

by a turn of the hand he could take possession of the spar which would

keep him afloat; he knew, too, that Hilliger was the better swimmer.

But he did not hesitate.

"Take it," he said, pushing the spar from him.

He waited to see Hilliger seize and rest his arms over the support.

Then he turned over on his side and struck out, swimming more easily

among the waves than he had expected to do in his clothes and heavy

boots. He could breathe more freely now, for the stifling fumes from

the exploded mine no longer caught at his throat.

Uncertain of his best direction, striving only to keep his head above

water, he glanced from side to side. In a ragged cloud of brown smoke

and escaping steam he could dimly see the stricken cruiser, now about

half a mile away.

She was perilously low in the bows, her afterpart tilted up, the blades

of her propellers showing. Yet she did not seem to be sinking deeper.

He supposed that her water-tight bulkheads had been promptly closed,

that she still might keep afloat for hours.

Turning to see if Max Hilliger were following him, he caught sight of

the destroyers rushing to the rescue, in spite of the danger from mines.

He had not known that they were so close in the wake of the _Atreus_.

Rodney had told him that they were going off on another job. He

wondered if they would be able to save the ship by towing her into shoal

water.

The shrill blast of a bugle reached him from the cruiser. As the smoke

lifted for a moment he saw a throng of men on her decks, throwing things

overboard--booms, hammocks, baulks of timber, crates, wooden

gratings--anything that might help in saving life. Her boats appeared

to have been smashed by the explosion. Everything beyond the bridge was

wrecked--a funnel had fallen, the fire-control platform was down. He

could see a gap in the forward turret, from which the great guns had

been dislodged.

He thought of the stokers and engineers. None of the crew who had been

in the forepart of the vessel when she struck the mine could have had

any chance of life. Even as he swam, he passed many gruesome signs of

the terrible destruction. He turned abruptly at sight of an uplifted

hand and a young seaman's blood-stained face, which appeared immediately

in front of him. He stretched out and caught at the man's wrist.

"Can I help you, mate?" he panted.

"No use, sonny," the seaman answered feebly. "Never you mind me. I've

lost a leg, and I reckon my starboard side's stove in."

Mark held on, trying to get his free arm round the man's body. But he

was drawn under, struggling, losing his grip.

When again he rose exhausted to the surface, and began once more to swim

for his life, he was himself seized by the shoulder and pushed from

behind. He made a spurt to free himself, and his right hand came down

upon something solid, at which he grabbed with desperate fingers. It

was one of the gratings that had been thrown overboard.

"Hold on to it!"

He heard the words confusedly through the buzzing of the sea water in

his ears. He did not recognise the voice as that of his brother.

Before he could turn to speak, his rescuer was swimming off again to the

help of other possible survivors.

Mark reached over and managed to get a shin against the edge of the

grating, pulling himself up until he rested bodily across the support.

Thus raised above the surface, clinging with hands and knees, he could

look round in search of swimmers who might share his refuge.

A little distance away he saw, and now recognised, his brother Rodney,

swimming back to him with a hand under the chin of a wounded midshipman.

The boy was brought alongside and lifted to the grating; but Mark

Redisham saw that he was already beyond all need of human help.

Rodney clambered upon the raft, and saw what Mark had seen.

"He was one of my pals at Dartmouth," he said. "Look around and see if

there are any others."

"Max Hilliger is somewhere about," Mark answered; "but I see no sign of

him."

"I expect he will be picked up," returned Rodney. "See! There's one of

the destroyers putting out her boats."

The leading destroyer had meanwhile come close up to the _Atreus_, and

was sending out a hawser, with the intention of getting her in tow by

the stern. It was soon obvious, however, that this attempt to save the

vessel was useless. She was settling down, the waves washing over her

bows, her stern tilted high.

It was clearly time to abandon the ship. The order to do so was given;

the men were falling in on her steeply sloping quarter-deck. Boats from

the destroyers were pulled alongside, and without hurry or confusion

men, officers, and captain left her to her fate.

A boat from the destroyer _Levity_ picked up Rodney and Mark Redisham.

Still in their wet clothes, they gave help in attending to the wounded.

All of the survivors who were not hurt had been in the afterpart of the

ship when she struck the mine. Those who had been below in the

stokeholds and seamen's quarters were killed to the number of a hundred

and forty men, apart from some thirty of the German prisoners taken from

the _Minna von Barnhelm_.

Nor was this the end of the disaster. The destroyer's boats had barely

drawn off from the sinking cruiser when she struck a second mine. It

exploded the fore magazine. Two of the rescue boats were smashed;

wreckage, falling from a great height, struck others, and one of the

cruiser's shells, bursting on the deck of the _Levity_, killed three

men.

When this happened, Mark was giving first-aid to a wounded signal-boy

who had been carried below into the temporary cockpit. The shell

exploded with a deafening crash just above his head. It seemed as if

the stout deck plates were burst asunder. He betrayed no alarm, but went

on with his work of attending to the signal-boy, until the surgeon came

with his instruments and bandages.

Mark returned on deck, wondering what had happened, and was in time to

watch the shattered _Atreus_ taking her final plunge--the third ship

which he had seen sent to the bottom of the North Sea on that memorable

day!

Captain Damant stood near him, also watching.

"I should not have regretted it so much if she had been sunk in fair

fight," the captain was saying to one of the officers. "This wholesale

mine-laying, however, is something unexampled, and contrary to all

international law. It is clear, too, that the enemy must have begun the

work days before the declaration of war."

Mark saluted him.

"You wished to see me, sir," he reminded him.

"Yes," the captain nodded; "I wanted to know if the _Minna von Barnhelm_

was the only suspicious-looking craft you saw this morning. But it is

now obvious that she was not alone. I don't suppose," he added, "that

you quite realise how important it was that you should give such prompt

information."

"We didn't save the _Atreus_, sir," Mark regretted.

"That is true," acknowledged Captain Damant, "because, as a matter of

fact, we altered our course, and ran into another mine-field. The

important thing is that our wireless message was picked up by a squadron

of our Dreadnoughts off the Dogger Bank. They were steaming towards the

danger. What do you suppose would have been the result if they, as well

as we, had run foul of those German mines? It is thanks to you that the

Navy has been saved an even greater disaster than the loss of the

_Atreus_. You may be sure I will see that your good services are

recognised."

*CHAPTER V.*

*UNDER THE SYCAMORE.*

Long before the smoke of the destroyer flotilla blurred the clean line

of the horizon, it was known in Haddisport that H.M.S. _Atreus_ had been

sunk by a floating mine. Among the first of the townspeople to hear the

news was Darby Catchpole.

Darby had come ashore from the _Mignonette_, and had hastened to the

naval signal station at the end of the pier to report what he personally

knew of the mine-layer. His Sea Scout's uniform gave him a passport,

and he entered the pavilion, undeterred by the armed bluejacket on guard

at the door.

He found himself in a large room, in which were several officers and

seamen. The officers were discussing a wireless message received from

Captain Damant. He heard one of them transmitting the message by

telephone. Another was working at the telegraph instrument. From an

inner room came the busy clicking of a typewriter.

An officer whom he knew by sight as Lieutenant Ingoldsby, commander of a

submarine, came up to him, and Darby told him of the loss of the _What's

Wanted_, adding that another steam trawler, the _Pied Piper_, had met a

similar fate, with the loss of all hands.

"I suppose the fishing will be stopped, won't it, sir?" Darby ventured

anxiously. His father was an owner of several trawlers, and he foresaw

the possibility of ruin.

"Not necessarily," the officer assured him. "We shall soon clear the

sea of mines. If you are not otherwise on duty, you can be useful

here."

Darby's eyes brightened.

"I'm ready now, sir, this minute, to do anything I can," he said.

"Good!" Lieutenant Ingoldsby nodded approval of this prompt

willingness. "Go into the farther room, there. They'll tell you what

to do."

Darby entered the tiny, sunlit room, from which he had heard the

clicking of the typewriter. Two bluejackets stood between him and the

table. One of them moved aside.

"A Sea Scout just come in, sir," he announced to the man at the

typewriter.

The operator wheeled round, and Darby was astonished to recognise his

own Scoutmaster, Mr. Arnold Bilverstone. He was aware that Mr.

Bilverstone was in the Royal Naval Reserve. What surprised him was that

Mr. Bilverstone had so quickly been installed in naval duties, and that

he should already be wearing the uniform of a petty officer.

Responding to Darby's salute, Mr. Bilverstone questioned him concerning

himself and his adventure, and, gathering a sheaf of papers, said:

"Take these to the Harbour-master. They are lists of selected steam

trawlers that are to be brought at once into the inner harbour to be

turned into mine-sweepers, flying the White Ensign."

Not Darby Catchpole alone, but several other Sea Scouts of the Lion

Patrol were occupied about the town and harbour that afternoon, helping

to convert a fleet of fishing boats into a fleet of naval auxiliaries.

Instead of trawling for fish, these stout little vessels were to engage

in the perilous pursuit of picking up explosive mines from the waters of

the North Sea. It only needed that their funnels and hulls should be

painted grey, and that some alterations should be made in their dredging

gear, and they were ready for their new and dangerous work, each with

her daring crew of naval reserve men.

In the late afternoon, Darby watched the first of them going out, under

the escort of a gunboat. It was astonishing how wicked looking a coat of

war paint had made them.

He lingered at the naval base until the survivors of the _Atreus_ were

landed in boats from the destroyers, and with other Sea Scouts he helped

in conveying the wounded to the hospital. On his return he met Mark

Redisham, who told him of how Max Hilliger had been on board the German

mine-layer.

"I've been looking and asking for him," said Mark, as they walked

together across the swing-bridge. "I supposed he'd been picked up by

one of the destroyers; but nobody seems to know anything about him. I'm

afraid he is drowned. We'd better call and tell his people."

Darby Catchpole shook his head.

"I've just heard that his people have left the neighbourhood," he

explained. "Mr. Hilliger, being a German, couldn't very well stay in

Haddisport. Of course, the consulate has ceased to exist. He has had to

shut up his office and apply for his passports. I shouldn't be at all

surprised if he, as well as Max, was aboard that Dutch ketch--the

_Thor_--that we spotted off the Silver Pit. Perhaps he even went with

Max on board the mine-layer. Anyhow, he's said to have sold his business

and gone off."

"It looks as if he'd known long beforehand that there was going to be

war," Mark observed.

"That is what the men in the trawl market are saying," resumed Darby.

"They are saying, too, that for years past he has been acting as an

agent of the German Navy against Great Britain, using his fishing boats

to fetch and carry information. What about that pigeon message? Had it

anything to do with him? Did you get at what was in it?"

"Yes." Mark Redisham gave a cautious glance at his companion. "But

I've got to keep it a secret."

"Right," nodded Darby. "Then I won't refer to it again. Are you going

to call at Sunnydene? I don't suppose you will find any one there,

except perhaps a caretaker. The German servants were dismissed quite a

week ago."

Sunnydene was the name of the Hilligers' luxurious mansion on the edge

of the cliff, to the north of the town. It was a conspicuous,

stone-built house, with gables and turrets overgrown with creepers,

flanked by fir trees grotesquely bent by the harsh winds of winter. In

the middle of the front lawn there was a tall flagstaff, rigged like a

schooner's mast, from which, on occasion, the German ensign was

displayed. The lower as well as the upper windows commanded a wide

expanse of the North Sea, and it was from one of them, opening upon the

terrace, that Herr Hilliger had watched the _Thor_ setting out, with his

son on board.

Time and again during this day he had stood looking out towards the far

horizon, as if he expected something to happen. And now in the dusk of

the evening he was once more gazing outward, with an expression of grave

anxiety in his watery, blue eyes.

"The pigeon has not yet come home, Seligmann!" he said, turning sharply

and speaking in German to his secretary, who had just entered the room

carrying an overcoat and a yellow leather handbag.

"No, _mein herr_," the secretary answered, "I have again been into the

loft. It has not returned. And already the car is at the door. It is

time that we start."

"Strange!" ejaculated Heir Hilliger. "I cannot understand it. Max was

to set it free at ten o'clock this morning. A bird that has so often

found its way across from Heligoland is not likely to have lost itself

on a shorter journey. It cannot be that the _Minna von Barnhelm_ failed

to come out from Cuxhaven. She was to have been at sea, equipped and

ready to begin her work at once when Max should signal to her that war

had been declared. Nothing can have gone wrong--nothing!"

He strode impatiently to and fro about the room.

"There is no help for it, Fritz," he resumed. "You must go without me.

You have your passport. You will go by motor-car to Harwich, catch the

night boat for the Hook of Holland, and join Max at Wilhelmshaven. You

understand?"

"I understand, _mein herr_," returned Fritz Seligmann. "I have

everything ready--the money, the secret code book, the plans, the letter

to Admiral von Hilliger. But it is unfortunate that you come not also.

If already our brave battleships are coming over for the great invasion,

it will be better that you are in Germany rather than here in England."

"Very true," agreed Herr Hilliger. "But before three days I shall no

longer be in England. I shall be on board the Admiral's flagship. Why

should I remain in the enemy's country when I can be over there in my

own, doing my duty for the Fatherland?"

An hour later, when the loaded car had gone off on its journey to

Harwich and the house was in darkness, he was out in the grounds,

prowling among the deep shadows of the trees. He seemed to have no

object in his wanderings; but presently he entered the stables, empty

now of both horses and motor-cars. He looked up into the blackness of

the rafters, where the open square of a trap-door showed dimly. Then he

determined to climb up into the pigeon loft. He clutched the sides of

the ladder, his foot was on the lowest rung, when the sound of a

footstep startled him. A hand caught agitatedly at his elbow. He

turned with a nervous gasp, and drew back in amazement, as if he had

seen a ghost.

"Max!" he cried. "You! Here? How is this? What has happened?"

Max stood facing his father, disguised in the engineer's cap and jumper

that he had borrowed in place of his own wet garments on the destroyer

which had brought him to land. He was breathing heavily, as if he had

been running; as, indeed, he had, all the way from the harbour.

"I'm in time, then," he panted. "In time to stop you. But why are you

not gone, hours ago? You got the message?"

"The message," his father repeated, recovering his composure. "It has

not come. The bird is not yet home. You failed me. You did not set it

free!"

"But I did, father!" protested Max. "It ought to have been here long

since. I don't understand."

"Nor I," returned his father. "It was the best homing bird we ever had.

Some one--why, what is the matter?"

Max was standing rigid, staring dazedly in front of him.

"I was thinking," he said slowly, "wondering--wondering if Mark

Redisham----But no, it couldn't be. It's not possible. And yet there

was that shot that I heard--a rifle shot--from across the sea! Are you

sure the pigeon is not in the loft, father?"

"Never mind the pigeon now." Herr Hilliger drew him out into the stable

yard. "Tell me what has happened. What of the _Minna von Barnhelm_?

You signalled her? You went aboard? Why have you come ashore?"

"What?" cried Max in astonishment. "You have not heard? You have not

been told? But she is sunk--sunk by the guns of a British cruiser--the

_Atreus_. I was aboard of her--yes. I was picked up. And then the

cruiser herself was blown up, sky-high, by one of our floating mines."

"Ah!" exclaimed Herr Hilliger, with a new eagerness. "Then the mines

were laid?"

"Hundreds of them!" Max declared. "All along the coast."

"Good!" nodded his father, moving out from the yard into the drive. "We

shall succeed."

He came to a halt under the shadow of a sycamore-tree.