injured. Two horses had been killed at the railway goods station, and a
great many window-panes had been smashed.
News had been received, however, that there had been a second Zeppelin.
The pair of them had come across the North Sea in company until land had
been sighted, when they had separated, one coming to Haddisport, the
other making a much wider circuit, dropping both explosive and
incendiary bombs on three coast towns in succession.
Late on the following afternoon, Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole were
at the naval base, waiting for instructions, when a flotilla of
mine-sweepers came into the harbour. One of them was the _Mignonette_.
As she came alongside the quay, Mark and Darby saw two very bedraggled
young men in shabby naval uniform standing with the skipper abaft the
wheel-house.
"They look like German prisoners," Mark said below his breath.
"They've been in the water," added Darby, "picked up from a sinking
submarine, I dare say. There's Ned Quester. Let's ask him about them."
Ned was climbing along the port bulwark, dragging the end of a heavy
mooring-rope. Having secured it round a bollard, he turned and saw the
two Sea Scouts.
"See those two chaps down there?" he began. "They're Deutschers. They
look rather sad, don't they? We rescued them early this morning, this
side of the Dogger. Just before dawn, we saw two rockets go up--a red
and a blue. We made for the place, thinking it was a vessel in
distress. So it was, but not the sort of vessel we expected. It looked
like an immense dead whale, seen in the dim light. When we got nearer
we were still puzzled by the shape of it, and could only guess that it
was a wrecked airship."
"What?" cried Mark Redisham, "a Zeppelin?--the Zeppelin that was over
Haddisport last night, dropping bombs? Then the anti-aircraft gun must
have hit it, after all!"
"That's right," nodded Ned. "Major Proudfynski--that's the older of the
two, who speaks English, of a sort--told us that they had done heaps of
damage, and killed he didn't know how many people, and that a whole
battery of artillery had fired up at them. Of course, we knew he was
exaggerating. However, when we got out the boat and pulled alongside the
thing, we knew it could only be a Zep that had come to grief. One of
the propellers was above water. We could see some of the bent and
tangled framework, supported by a section of the still inflated gas-bag.
Afterwards we fired a shot into it, letting the gas escape, and then the
wreckage went down. But before that, we'd seen these two chaps clinging
to the framework, and we got them off and took them aboard the
_Mignonette_. They were so exhausted by the exposure that they couldn't
speak, and the younger one had to be worked at for a long time before he
came to his senses."
"But there must have been a whole crowd of others," said Mark. "Those
Zeps have a crew of thirty or forty at least."
"Yes, I know," returned Ned. "The rest were all drowned under the
wreckage. These two had the sense to jump out when she was falling and
get clear of the stays. They could swim. What puzzled our skipper was
how they managed to send up the two rockets. But it seems the airship
fell by the bow with her stern sticking up above water for a time, and
the major got into one of the gondolas, where there was a box of rockets
and things--matches, as well, I suppose."
Officers from the naval station had come to the edge of the wharf. One
of them spoke to the Germans, asking them to come ashore.
"What are you going to do with us?" questioned the elder of the two.
"Oh, you'll be all right!" he was told. "You are prisoners; but that
doesn't mean that you will be ill-treated."
"Prisoners?"
"Yes. You don't imagine that we are going to let you go back to
Germany, do you? Not after what you did last night. You came across to
England to pay us a visit; why should you hurry away? We'll show you
what it's like to live in a civilised country."
An escort of armed bluejackets had been drawn up on the quay. The two
prisoners were conducted to the base, where they were questioned briefly
before being given the honours of war and taken to the hotel. After
they had had a good dinner they were sent, still under escort, by a
special train, to a destination far removed from the unfriendly sea.
*CHAPTER XXVIII.*
*THE WAY TO CALAIS.*
Darby Catchpole was with Mark Redisham now for a particular reason. He
had lately joined the Royal Naval Reserve, and had been appointed a
signal-boy for duty on one of the mine-sweepers. In order that he might
gain some experience of the work, however, he was to go for a
preliminary trip with Commodore Snowling on the _Dainty_, which was to
steam out to sea at sundown.
"I only hope we shall be going somewhere in sight of our Dreadnoughts,"
he said to Mark, while they waited on the wharf for the skipper. "I
should love to see a naval action."
"Not much chance of that," Mark told him. "We shall not see an enemy
ship of any sort--except possibly a submarine. I dare say we shall only
be on ordinary patrol duty, steaming to and fro along the coasts like
soldiers on sentry-go. It isn't always exciting. We don't have an
adventure every trip, unless you call it an adventure to have a green
sea come over you, or to have your clothes frozen like iron plates on
your back. Sometimes it's exceedingly uncomfortable and monotonous. I
hope you've brought some books to read. Your kit bag looks pretty
full."
"It's full of eatables, mostly," Darby answered. "Mother has the idea
that mine-sweepers go out with no provisions aboard."
"Here comes our old man," Mark intimated, seeing Harry Snowling
approaching from the direction of the naval base, where he had been to
receive his sailing orders.
"He's got some new charts under his arm; so I suppose we're bound to
some place where we've never been before. I hope it's not up north to
the Orkneys or Shetlands. We had our share of storms and snow when we
went through the Pentland Firth."
The two Sea Scouts saluted their skipper as he came swinging along with
an empty pipe in his mouth.
"Right you are, bors," he said cheerily. "Lay aboard and cast off."
When they had cleared the harbour and were out in the blue water, Mark
took his trick at the steering-wheel. The course given him was E.S.E.,
but after a while it was changed to south-east, the change being
indicated to the three trawlers that were following by signals from the
syren.
"Dessay you're a-wonderin' where we're goin', bor?" said the skipper,
glancing into Mark's face, which was lighted by the dim glow from the
binnacle. "And so am I. But we're a-sailin' under sealed orders this
trip, and shan't know till the stroke of midnight."
At midnight Mark and Darby were both in their bunks, and they saw the
skipper come below, seat himself under the hanging lamp, break open a
sealed envelope, and take out a slip of typewritten paper.
"Um!" murmured the skipper, "dunno as how they need have kep' it a
secret. Seems to me they keeps things secret just for the fun of it,
sometimes--same as our Sally. You c'n goo to sleep, bors," he added,
glancing towards the bunks.
He stood up, and, quitting the cabin, went on deck, leaving the slip of
paper on the flap-table, knowing that neither of the boys would look at
it. He had implicit trust in them.
From the engine-room came the tinkle of the telegraph, the syren was
blown, the engines stopped, and then there came the grunting of the
winch and the noisy rattle of the anchor chain through the hawse hole.
"We're anchored for the night," said Mark, turning over on his pillow.
The _Dainty_ was still at anchor in the early morning when the two
Scouts jumped out of their bunks and climbed up on deck in their
pyjamas, with towels round their necks. They opened the side gangway
and put out the ladder, then stripped and dived off into the cold, clear
waves, Darby leading. They swam round the nearest of the three other
trawlers, shouted a "good-morning" to the watch, and had a race back,
Mark being left far behind; for Darby Catchpole was by far the better
swimmer.
While they were drying themselves, they looked round about them.
There were several vessels lying at anchor within sight. About a mile
away was a magnificent American clipper, with four tall masts and an
amazing webwork of standing and running rigging, and with the stars and
stripes painted on her beautiful hull. A tug lay near her, getting up
steam to tow her farther on her voyage to some North Sea port with her
cargo of American timber. Farther away there were two British
destroyers and a light cruiser.
Mark got into his pyjamas and went aft to get a pair of binoculars from
the wheel-house; but found the skipper using them.
"Look slippy and get your warm clothes on, bor," said Snowling. "I
expect I shall want you, soon as it's light enough, to do a bit of
signallin'."
Mark and Darby were both quickly dressed. They returned on deck
munching some of Mrs. Catchpole's home-made currant cake. All four of
the mine-sweepers were by this time getting up steam.
"Keep your eye on the light cruiser yonder," ordered the skipper, "and
be ready to take down her semaphore message when she starts signallin'."
The two boys waited very patiently for about half an hour, when at
length the semaphore on the cruiser's bridge began to move.
"What's he a-sayin'?" Harry Snowling asked.
"He says: 'How old are you?'" Mark answered. "Tell him ninety-nine," the
skipper gravely pursued, giving his ship's number.
Mark spelt out the reply with his flags, knowing that the inquiry and
the expected response were merely preliminary. There was a pause; then
again the semaphore was worked, and Darby read the message:
You will proceed at once to the position marked Z on your chart,
and begin operations, working in parallels from N.E. to S.W.
Please repeat.
Mark repeated the message, doing it much quicker then the semaphore had
done. The skipper then signalled to his consorts to lift their anchors,
and in a very little time the flotilla of mine-sweepers was steaming
away between the Forelands and the Goodwins and across the Straits.
The position marked on the chart was to the southward of the British
mine-field and off the Belgian coast.
Other trawlers joined in the work of sweeping for explosive mines which
were believed to have been laid by the enemy from boats sent out
secretly from Zeebrugge and Ostend. For a long time none were found,
but as the searchers drew nearer to the Belgian coast one after another
was brought up and exploded. On the second day three were exploded by
the _Dainty_ and her sweeping partner, the _Veronica_, and Darby
Catchpole realised by experience that mine-sweeping was in actuality a
sternly-strenuous, arduous, and exceedingly hazardous calling.
As they worked nearer and nearer to the Belgian coast, ominous sounds
came to them across the intervening sea; sounds that told them of the
ceaseless warfare on the land. The air was filled with the
deep-throated booming of heavy guns, the bursting of high-explosive
shells and of shrapnel.
With an almost superhuman effort, the Germans were attempting to make
themselves masters of the coast and seaports of Northern France. They
had concentrated enormous forces of men and heavy artillery, and were
making a tremendous forward movement with the intention of getting round
the Allies' left flank and cutting off their communications with England
and the Channel.
If, by taking Dunkirk, Calais, and Boulogne, they could command the
Straits of Dover, an invasion of Great Britain would, they believed, be
simple. They might lay a double field of mines across from shore to
shore with a clear way between, through which their crowded transport
barges could pass under cover of their batteries of enormous guns.
It was the narrowest part of the straits, between Calais and Dover,
which they most earnestly coveted. Calais was their great objective, and
they had begun to boast of the victory which they felt certain they must
soon achieve. They were already in possession of the Belgian coast.
Their trenches were dug close to the sea, supported by their big guns
concealed among the sand dunes. From the sea itself there could be no
danger, since the water was too shallow to admit of British battleships
coming within range, and, besides, the sea was thickly sown with German
explosive mines.
It was in counting upon the shallowness of the water off the coast that
they made their great mistake. No Dreadnought could come within range,
it is true; but there are other vessels than Dreadnoughts capable of
carrying heavy guns, though perhaps the Germans had not thought to find
them off Nieuport.
The crew of the mine-sweeper _Dainty_ had had their curiosity aroused by
the sight of three peculiar-looking steamers flying the White Ensign,
which came to anchor near them one Saturday evening.
Darby Catchpole was particularly interested in them. They were small
vessels, of hardly more than a thousand tons. Their low hulls and their
upper works, including the funnel and ventilators, were oddly painted in
grey and white to confuse the eye and add to their invisibility.
"They look like river craft," said Darby. "I shouldn't wonder if they
drew no more than four feet of water, even with the weight of their
guns."
He was right about their being river craft. They had been built for the
Brazilian Government for use in shoal water. Their sides were heavily
armoured. Each mounted an armament of two 6-inch guns, two howitzers,
four 3-pounders, and six quick-firing guns, and she could discharge a
ton and a half of metal every minute.
These were the ships--monitors they were called--with which the British
Navy was prepared to prove that the waters off the Flemish coast were
not too shallow to admit of heavy guns coming within range of the German
trenches. With their shallow draught they could defy the enemy's
submarines, whose torpedoes were set to run about twelve feet below the
surface, and they could move to and fro, confusing the aim of the
Germans' heavy artillery.
The monitors were supported by several old cruisers, gunboats, and
destroyers, French as well as British, and, much to the surprise of
Harry Snowling and his crew, the trawlers also were ordered to take
their part in the operations. They formed the advance guard to search
for hostile submarines or possible mines, and to spy out the positions
of the German batteries by drawing their fire, while the Allies'
aeroplanes made observations from the air.
Suddenly the three monitors, coming within range, opened fire with their
6-inch guns and howitzers, and it was then that the Germans had the
surprise of their lives.
Steaming backward and forward parallel with the coast, the ships kept up
a constant cannonade, dropping their lyddite shells with precision into
the enemy's trenches, smashing their batteries and spreading havoc and
destruction.
The Germans brought down their heaviest guns to the shore and returned
the fire in an attempt to drive off the ships. But all their efforts
against moving targets were in vain.
They sent out submarines from their hiding places in the Belgian canals;
but these, too, were of no avail. The crushing cannonade from the
British ships could not be silenced, and there was no alternative but
for the Germans to abandon their positions and evacuate a large extent
of the country, after suffering terrible losses in material and men.
In the course of this bombardment of the enemy's right flank, the
British trawlers were active in sweeping for mines sown by the German
submarines. This was perilous work, as it brought the little vessels
into the zone of fire. Only one of them, however, was hit, and this
happened to be the _Dainty_.
An enemy aeroplane had been flying over the ships, trying to drop bombs
on them. Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole were watching when they saw
a French monoplane rise from the Allies' lines beyond a point of the
land and give chase to the German Taube.
The two machines circled about like a pair of swallows, mounting and
descending, swooping this way and that. The pursuit lasted fully half
an hour when at length the Taube made a determined dash at the monoplane
as if to ram it.
Very dexterously the French pilot swerved and ranged his machine up
beside his adversary, the expanded wings almost touching. Four spurts
of fire were seen. Then the monoplane ascended in a spiral, while the
Taube began to drop, quivering like a wounded bird.
Plunging sideways, it turned over and fell down, down with a splash into
the sea, midway between the _Dainty_ and the land.
Skipper Snowling put on full steam and steered towards it, to rescue the
pilot if he should still be alive.
Immediately one of the German heavy guns on the shore opened fire upon
the trawler. Snowling altered his course and bore outward. This saved
his boat from the first shell, which fell astern; but a second, from a
smaller gun, crashed into her frail hull, and that was the end of her.
In a cloud of smoke and escaping steam Darby and Mark found themselves
struggling to swim clear of the wreckage. Neither of them was hurt.
They both wore their safety collars and life-belts, and both were good
swimmers. But what of their shipmates?
One of the deck hands came to the surface and Darby grabbed at his arm.
"All right, bor," the man cried, shaking the water from his hair. "Look
arter yourself. Make for the monitor that's bearin' down on us."
Mark and Darby swam about for a while and soon discovered the skipper
trying to raise the cook's head above water.
"He's done for," said Snowling. "We can only leave him, poor fellow.
But Tom Beckett's behind you, see if you can help him and keep him
afloat."
The monitor was close at hand now, firing her howitzers landward as she
approached. She dropped a boat, and five of the _Dainty's_ crew were
picked up. Eight were either drowned or killed. The survivors were
transferred to the _Veronica_ and taken home to Haddisport, while the
ships continued their bombardment of the enemy's batteries, although
already there was reason to believe that the German plan of seizing
Dunkirk and Calais had been successfully frustrated.
The Royal Navy had proved once again the truth of the old saying that it
can go anywhere and do anything. But it was soon to prove in a yet more
signal manner that Britain's sovereignty of the seas was no mere idle
boast, but a glorious reality.
*CHAPTER XXIX.*
*MAX MEETS THE ADMIRAL.*
"_Ach_, my dear Max, how it rejoices me once again to see you!"
Ever since the perilous moment on board the doomed German battleship in
the Bight of Heligoland, when Max Hilliger had saved his uncle's life,
Admiral von Hilliger had shown a peculiarly affectionate regard for his
nephew. In his estimation Max was not only a relative to be proud of,
but a hero worthy of high favour, an officer whose knowledge of
seamanship, whose patriotism and resourcefulness made him of inestimable
value in the Kaiser's naval service.
Had Max happened to be a few years older, he might have counted upon
rapid promotion; he might even, in spite of his inexperience and lack of
technical training, have been given the full command of a submarine, or
been appointed as a Zeppelin officer, charged with the duty of voyaging
in an airship across to England to drop incendiary bombs upon enemy
towns.
But owing to his extreme youth he could not at present hold a higher
rank than that of midshipman, even though his actual duties were those
of a sub-lieutenant.
Still, as Max himself realised, it was better to be serving as a junior
officer in a submarine and doing important work for the Fatherland than
to be tramping the quarter-deck of an idle battleship with no immediate
chance of fighting.
They had met now, quite unexpectedly, on the quay at Brunsbuttel, at the
western outlet of the Kiel Canal. Max had just come ashore from the
U50, which had entered from the sea and been moored alongside of other
submarines within the massive lock gates. He had been marching along
the stone parapet, feeling very important in his naval uniform, with its
gold lace and brass buttons, and proudly conscious of the Iron Cross
which dangled conspicuously from his expanded chest.
Seamen and marines saluted him ceremoniously as he strode proudly past
them; he, himself, saluted all officers of higher rank than his own. As
he turned sharply round the corner of the custom-house, he came almost
full tilt against Admiral von Hilliger, resplendent in gold lace,
medals, epaulettes, and cocked hat, and escorted by two flag officers.
Max clipped his heels together and saluted. The admiral flung out his
arms.
"_Ach_, my dear Max," he cried, embracing the embarrassed midshipman,
"how it rejoices me once again to see you! It is good we have met. In
one hour I should have been gone across to Wilhelmshaven, and you would
have missed me. Come! You will take midday eating with me. There is
much that we have to say to each other."
Max followed him and the two officers through intricate passages between
huge stacks of ammunition boxes and naval stores, and across an open
pavement to the front of an hotel. Here the two officers stood aside,
and Max went past them with his uncle up the steps and into a little
room whose windows looked out upon the grey estuary of the Elbe and the
distant fleet.
Admiral von Hilliger turned the key of the door, glanced behind a
curtain, and even into a cupboard, to assure himself that he was alone
with his nephew; then took his stand in front of the stove and lighted a
very long cigar.
"During the seven minutes before lunch," he began, "we will talk
business. What have you been doing in the past two weeks? How many
more of the mischievous enemy's ships have you sunk with your brave
submarine?"
Max did not answer immediately.
"Lieutenant Koerner has prepared his report," he said presently. "I am
his subordinate. It is not for me to account for what he has done. We
have not been idle."
"But Lieutenant Koerner is not here," pursued the admiral, "and I wish
to know what ships have been sunk. How many of their dreadnoughts have
you sent to the bottom of the German Ocean since last we met?"
"None, sir," Max answered. "Those which we have seen have been too well
guarded for us to approach them within striking distance. We sank a
Swedish steamer carrying timber to the Thames, a British collier coming
out of the Tyne. We lay in wait three days to torpedo a Harwich
passenger boat, which slipped past us, after all. Many steamers have
escaped us by their higher speed and their manoeuvring. Even the
English patrol-trawlers now carry guns; but we have accounted for four
of them."
"Good," nodded the admiral. "I would have every one of their wretched
fishing boats swept off the seas. They are our worst enemies. Do not
be deceived by their seeming innocence, my dear Max. While they are
fishing, they are also watching and carrying information. Sink
them--sink them without warning, without mercy. Naturally you have not
allowed any of their crews to escape?"
Max glanced into the admiral's red-bearded face.
"But yes," he admitted. "In each case we have given them time to take
to their boats."
"Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed his uncle, stamping a heavy foot.
"This will not do. You must not permit your ridiculous scruples of
humanity to interfere with your duty--the duty of sinking every vessel
you can find, with every one in her. Let none escape. Remember that
every ship now sailing the seas is either an enemy or a friend of the
enemy, whose purpose it is to help the hateful English and to do harm to
our beloved Fatherland!"
He puffed desperately at his cigar as if with the intention of finishing
it as speedily as possible.
"Listen, my dear Max," he went on. "In future you shall put aside all
scruple. Give no warning of your intentions, give no time for escape;
but with gun or torpedo, sink, sink, sink without a moment's mercy!"
Max had fixed his gaze into the glowing coals of the open stove.
Suddenly he looked up once again into his uncle's face.
"But, suppose, sir, that there are women and children in the ship; are
they, too, to be sacrificed?" he quietly asked.
Admiral von Hilliger gasped in astonishment at the suggestion.