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.Atreushad been sunk by a floating mine. Among the first of the townspeople to hear the news was Darby Catchpole.Darby had come ashore from theMignonette, 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 theWhat's Wanted, adding that another steam trawler, thePied 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 theAtreuswere 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—theThor—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 theThorsetting 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 theMinna von Barnhelmfailed 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 theMinna 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—theAtreus. 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."Listen, my son," he resumed, speaking very low. "This morning I have had a secret dispatch from Berlin. Everything goes well. Our brave soldiers are sweeping their way through Belgium. In a week they will march triumphantly into Paris. We shall have taken possession of Calais. The way to England will then be easy. Our battleships and submarines will command the Channel, and all the seas; cutting off supplies so effectually that Great Britain will be starved into submission, even before our transports and Zeppelins land their invading forces. Your opportunities, my dear Max, are even brighter than I had dared to dream."He paused, drawing his son closer into the shielding shadows of the tree."But this delay in our getting over to Wilhelmshaven is most unfortunate," he continued. "As it happens, you had better have gone right across in the ketch, instead of changing into theMinna. As for myself——""Why didn't you go by the mail-boat from Harwich?" Max interrupted."My dear boy," exclaimed his father, "I waited for your message. All our plans—everything—depended upon my knowing the bearings of theMinnaand my getting on board of her, as we planned.""And now," pursued Max, "what do you propose to do?""Listen!" rejoined Herr Hilliger, still speaking in a cautiously low voice. "Everything that we now do must be in the service of the Emperor and the Fatherland. You and I are no longer concerned with England, in any way whatever, excepting in hastening her complete downfall. Great Britain must be beaten to the dust. And I have come to the determination that for the present we can best serve the Kaiser's cause by my going at once to Wilhelmshaven, leaving you here in England.""Leaving me here?" cried Max in surprise. "But why? Why should I, a German, remain here among our enemies?""To be of the greatest use to his Majesty the Kaiser," returned Herr Hilliger. "You have been associated with the English people. You know them; you speak like one of them; you can pass yourself off anywhere as English. You can look about you without being suspected, seeing things which it is important that the Admiral and his captains should know.""What?" Max ground his heel into the gravel. "You want me to stop here and find out the secrets of our enemies—to continue your underhand work of sending private information to Germany about the British fleet? You want me to betray the people who have been my friends? No, my father, I cannot do that. I am a German; I will fight for Germany. I will give up my life for the Fatherland. But I will not pretend to be what I am not. I will not be a spy."Herr Hilliger laughed, a low, contemptuous laugh."My dear Max," he said, "since when did you learn that to be a true patriot it is necessary to consider the advantages of your country's enemies? It is nonsense. Your highest duty, as my son and as a German, is to do all you can against the arrogant English. You shall obey me. Do you understand? Tell me, once: how many people know that you are here in Haddisport? How many know that your life was saved when the British cruiser was blown to pieces by our faithful explosive mine?""Nobody knows," Max answered sullenly. "Nobody on board the destroyer which picked me up knew me, even by sight. I did not intend that any one should guess I was a German. Nobody who was on board theAtreusknows that I was not blown to bits—except—yes, except Mark Redisham. He saw me swimming. But he doesn't know that I was saved.""Ah!" nodded Herr Hilliger. "And he need never know. He must never know—never. It is better that he should believe that you were drowned."Max clutched at his father's arm, pressing him back upon the grass behind the tree."Some one comes!" he whispered agitatedly.They both saw the lithe figure of a youth approaching silently up the drive. He paused for a moment, looking at the front door of the dark, deserted house, strode to the porchway, and quickly ran up the steps. In the silence the two watchers heard the tinkling of an electric bell; but neither moved. Strange that they should thus hide themselves in their own garden!They waited, knowing that the door would not be opened. Herr Hilliger ventured to lean out and look towards the porch. As he did so, the revolving beam of light from the lighthouse, half a mile away, illumined the trees, travelled slowly over the towers and gables of the dwelling, glinted for an instant on the upper windows, then spread its glow across the sea. Against this glow he saw the figure on the doorstep, clearly defined."It is one of your Sea Scouts," he whispered.The Sea Scout ran lightly down the steps, turned, and came quickly nearer, walking so quietly on the gravel that Max could only believe that he wore tennis shoes. Then, as he came yet closer, to within a couple of yards of the two Germans, again the beam from the lighthouse swung round and shone in his face.It was the face of Mark Redisham.CHAPTER VI.WHAT MARK FOUND IN THE PIGEON-LOFT.The two watchers under the sycamore-tree held themselves so very still and silent that even if he had been searching for them Mark Redisham might have passed by without a suspicion that they were so near. His well-trained senses were alert, but he was not consciously listening for any betraying sound or looking for any movement.He went on along the gravel drive with confident stride until he reached the stables. Here he paused, glancing backward before entering the gateway of the yard. He had expected to find the gate shut and bolted, and was surprised to see that the door of the motor-garage also was open.The place was in darkness, but he noticed that the motor-car was not there. This appeared to indicate that, although the family might have gone home to Germany, yet they had not dismissed all their servants. Mark reflected that probably the chauffeur, who acted also as gardener, had been left in charge of the house and grounds until the property should be sold or otherwise disposed of.Mark had no intention of asking the caretaker's sanction to do what he had come to do. Indeed, it gratified him that his precautionary ringing of the hall hell had not been answered. He went boldly into the stables.Knowing that he was about to use his electric torch, he closed the door behind him, lest the light should be seen. He knew the place well. Even in this past summer the Lion Patrol had had a scout game at Sunnydene. Pickets had been stationed at various points, and it had been his own part to steal into the grounds and make his way in the darkness into the harness-room without being caught.He was now engaged in no ordinary scouting game, but in a serious duty imposed upon him by the officer in command at the naval base, and it was even more important that he should not be detected.Feeling along the whitewashed wall, he touched the ladder leading to the loft. Up this he climbed through the trap-door.He stood for some moments looking about him in the darkness of the loft. In the high door by which hay and straw were brought in there was a small hole, on a level with his eyes. Swallows used it as an entrance to their nests in the rafters. Going up to it and peering outward, he could distinguish the dark level of the sea, and presently the ruby gleam of the Alderwick lightship appeared, grew brighter, and faded against the dim horizon.Mark realised that, if from here he could see that ruby gleam, it was certain that the crew of the lightship could equally well see the flash of his electric torch. Was it not possible that Heinrich Hilliger had used this hole in the loft door through which to flash his signals? Mark covered the hole by hanging his cap on a nail just above it.Then he turned and closed the trap in the floor. It made more noise in falling than he had intended. Whether it was the displacement of air or his own fancy, there seemed to be a corresponding sound down below, as if another door had been suddenly shut, and as if the key of that other door had been turned in the lock."I suppose I'm a bit nervous," he said to himself. "It couldn't have been anything." He drew out his torch, pressed the switch, and turned the shaft of light upon the partition beyond which Hilliger's pigeons were kept. The key was in the door. Feeling like a guilty burglar, he turned it and entered, shielding the light from the open space in the gable by which the pigeons flew in and out.There were no pigeons here now. The coops and perches were empty. He supposed that Herr Hilliger had taken the birds away with him, to use them in carrying secret messages back to England; although, as yet, there was no proof that Herr Hilliger had ever actually used any of his pigeons for this purpose.Mark made a rapid survey of the untidy loft, with its lumber of old harness, rusty garden tools, bundles of sacking, broken fishing-rods, and discarded cricket bats. On a low shelf were some model yachts with torn sails and tangled rigging. He looked at the rough model of a steam trawler. The boat was curiously constructed with a boxed-in and bottomless well. Inside this well there was a crude model of a submarine. Some one—Max Hilliger, perhaps—had evidently attempted to invent a device by which a real submarine might be hidden within the casement of a larger vessel, thus enabling it to be brought close to an enemy without being discovered. The idea was ingenious, but obviously not practical.In a corner cupboard he discovered a box of electric light bulbs of various colours. The sight of these led him to search for electric wires. He saw none; but what he did find was a portable electric lamp coiled round with a wire so exceedingly long that, as he estimated, the switch might be worked here in the loft while the bulb could be cunningly planted amongst the gorse bushes halfway down the cliff, there to flash its signals of coloured light.Mark wondered if he should take the lamp away with him, but decided to leave it untouched. If as he believed, Herr Hilliger was already on his way back to Germany, and if Max were drowned, there could be no more risk of their communicating with the enemy.He turned his torch upon the long trestle table at the far end of the loft. It was littered with feathers and grain, and thick with dust. But in the midst of the litter were several things which he considered it his duty to examine. The first article he touched was a match-box, half full of very small elastic bands. Beside it was a spool of thin, narrow paper."Here's proof enough!" he reflected with satisfaction. For he recognised the paper and the elastic bands as being precisely similar to the material found on the leg of the pigeon shot by Darby Catchpole from the deck of theWhat's Wanted.For a little while longer he continued his search. From a pile of old newspapers and tattered books, he idly drew forth a long, tin cylinder, thinking at first it was a telescope case. The lid had been jammed on crookedly, and he had difficulty in pulling it off with the help of his knife. When he succeeded at last in opening the canister, he saw that it contained several tightly-rolled sheets of paper. He spread them out on the table. They were maps, plans, and charts, very carefully drawn.The uppermost one was a general map of the coast, including Haddisport and Buremouth, with the villages between and a wide strip of the sea, divided into numbered sections. The others—and there were some twenty of them—were detailed enlargements of the same sections, upon which were shown the principal buildings of the two towns, the particulars of the harbours and railways, with every road and lane and bridge, every field and coppice and house, distinctly indicated.Mark Redisham had never seen such wonderful maps, or imagined that any existed so complete and correct. Nothing seemed to have been overlooked. On the margins of each sheet were notes, written in German, with numbers referring to certain features in the plans.Mark saw much that he did not then understand; but there was one sheet in particular which was perfectly clear to him. It was a large scale chart of the section of the North Sea immediately facing Haddisport, giving the exact soundings of the channels and shallows and showing an outline of the coast, with every altitude measured.The soundings of Alderwick Knoll were so precise and plentiful that it was evident to him that some important purpose was connected with this sand-bank. He could hardly doubt, indeed, that the chart had been prepared for the guidance of an enemy attempting an invasion!So greatly was he impressed by this idea, that he became nervously excited over his discovery. What was he to do? Should he carry these charts and maps away with him, now—to-night? He had not been instructed to take anything away with him; but only to "have a look round" and report upon any discovery he might happen to make.Thinking over the situation for a few swift moments, he determined to obey his orders to the letter. Accordingly, he returned the sheets to the map-case, put the case back where he had found it, and prepared to leave the loft.He left no trace of his secret visit. Taking his cap and pocketing his torch, he climbed down the ladder into the garage. He pushed lightly at the door; but it did not swing open. He pushed it harder; still it resisted. Then he put his shoulder to it and gave it a shove. It did not move. He grappled with it, trying with all his strength to force it open and, realised, to his alarm, that it had been locked from the outside!He grew hot and cold by turns. Had he been watched, stealing into these stables where he had no business which he could truthfully explain? If so, who could it be that had watched and trapped him? It could not be Heinrich Hilliger himself, or Max. Herr Hilliger had gone back to Germany. Max was drowned. The chauffeur had not returned with the car. Once more he put his shoulder to the door. No. It was certainly locked! He was a prisoner!But Mark Redisham was not a Sea Scout for nothing. There were more ways than one of getting out. He tried the door of the harness-room. That, too, was locked. Yet there was still another door, leading into the stable. It opened with a simple latch and he crossed to the door giving on to the yard. Again he was foiled.He looked to the window. It was heavily barred.But not even now did he despair. Beyond the vacant horse-boxes was a small opening in the wall—a hatch through which the stable refuse was forked out. This hatch, he knew, was fastened only on the inside by a hook and staple. In a moment he had flung it open, to climb out without further hindrances and make his way among the fruit trees and across the tennis lawn to the back gate of the Sunnydene property, and into the Alderwick road.Five minutes after his escape, he was at home in his father's library, sending his report by telephone to the naval base.His father, Major Redisham, had gone off to join his regiment, and the family supper was in consequence a melancholy meal. Mark said nothing of his visit to Sunnydene; but he was at liberty to tell his mother and sisters of the exciting events of the day—the loss of theWhat's Wanted, the sinking of the German mine-layer, and the terrible disaster to theAtreus."So you see," he concluded, "Rod was present at the firing of the first naval gun of the war!""Yes," said his mother; "but unfortunately Rodney's ship cannot be replaced, or the brave men who went down with her. He may not get another appointment for a long time. Is he coming home to-night, Mark?"Mark shook his head."No, mother," he answered. "He was kept aboard the destroyer—theLevity. The whole flotilla went off to sea again as soon as the wounded were put ashore for hospital.""I suppose they've gone to join the main fleet," his sister Vera conjectured. "Of course, the German battleships are out, and there'll be a great battle.""The destroyers went south, however," Mark explained, "and the enemy fleet is much more likely to be hanging round off the Dogger Bank than down there in the narrow seas. It's my idea that the destroyers have gone into the Channel.""Why?" questioned Vera. "What's the good of their going into the Channel when the Germans are in the North Sea? We want to fight them, don't we?""Well, you see," resumed Mark, "the British Army will be crossing to France. You don't suppose that ever so many of our transports—big liners crowded with troops—will be allowed to go over by themselves, at the risk of being sunk by German submarines? They've got to be protected on both flanks. I expect they'll steam across through quite an avenue of cruisers and destroyers."Later, when Mark was saying good-night before going sleepily to bed, there was a ring at the front-door bell."Master Mark is wanted," the parlourmaid announced agitatedly. "There's a policeman and a lot of soldiers."No longer sleepy, Mark hurried into the hall, where he found Constable Challis, Mr. Bilverstone, and two men in khaki."What's up?" he cried, seeing that the two soldiers were armed with rifles and fixed bayonets. "Are the Germans coming?""We want you to go with us," Arnold Bilverstone explained. "Get on your overcoat, and bring your electric torch. We're going to make a raid on Herr Hilliger's pigeon-loft."Mark was quickly ready to march off at the head of the company. As they filed into the Sunnydene ground they saw that the house was in total darkness.Leaving one of the sentries posted outside the stable yard, Mr. Bilverstone led the way round to the rear of the outhouses, where he posted the second sentry. Mark crossed the tennis-court, dodged under the fruit trees, and crawled through the hatch door which he had left unfastened. Mr. Bilverstone and Constable Challis followed him through the stable and into the garage. They mounted one by one into the loft. Mark flashed his torchlight along the floor, up into the rafters, and again along the floor. Then he stooped and picked up the stub of a cigarette, sniffed at it and shook his head."Somebody has been here!" he cried. "The end of this cigarette's still wet."He went beyond the partition and began to search. But his search was in vain. The maps, the electric signalling-lamp and coloured bulbs, the model of the submarine, the spool of paper, the elastic bands—all had been cleared away. Nothing remained to show that the place was more than an abandoned pigeon-loft.CHAPTER VII.UNDER THE WHITE ENSIGN.Because he was a Sea Scout, clever at semaphore signalling, with a knowledge of seamanship, resourceful, and generally handy, Mark Redisham had no difficulty in entering the Royal Naval Reserve, the more especially as he was strongly recommended by Captain Damant. It satisfied him greatly to be appointed at once as signal-boy and wireless operator on board His Majesty's steam trawlerDainty.She was named theDaintywhen launched, and as theDaintyshe had toiled and battled for three stormy winters on the wild North Sea. But now her impudent white and red funnel and her gaudy hull were painted a sombre war grey, her trawling gear had been altered, her fish-well turned into a cabin, and the name on her bows had given place to the number 99. She was no longer a mere fishing craft, but classed as one of the great new fleet of naval mine-sweepers, flying the white ensign, and manned by a crew of sturdy East Coast fishermen wearing the blue jacket and loose trousers and flat-topped caps of the British Navy.It was a proud moment for Mark when early on the morning following the "raid" on the pigeon-loft he went on duty, and theDaintysteamed out of Haddisport harbour and bore northward abreast of the lighthouse and past his home on the cliff. She was one of a squadron of twelve, and they went out in the company of the torpedo gunboatRapid.Word had come that the Germans had sown an extensive mine-field to the west and south of the Dogger Bank, scattering their deadly explosives over the seas, to the peril of peaceful trading vessels as well as of any British battleships and cruisers that might enter the area of danger. Two Danish cargo steamers and half a dozen English fishing boats had already been blown up, and our busy scavengers of the sea were now to go out and rake up the carefully-sown seedlings of death.The work was dangerous, for at any moment one of the stout little vessels of the squadron might find a mine with her keel instead of with her stretched wire hawser, which meant ten more good men sent to the bottom. And there was always the risk of a premature explosion if a mine had to be handled in releasing it from its moorings.Mines are not pleasant things to handle at any time—certainly not such powerful ones as the Germans employ, with glass "beards," or projecting spikes, the breaking of one of which results in an explosion great enough to sink a Dreadnought! They are charged, not with gun-cotton, but with the even stronger explosive known as T.N.T., which has the quality that if the mine filled with it strikes a ship it blows in the side of the vessel and then continues its destructive work in the interior.The skipper of mine-sweeper 99 was Harry Snowling, R.N.R., an old salt who had fished for thirty years on the North Sea, and knew its deeps and shallows as well as he knew the lines on his own honest, weather-beaten face. But, of course, he had had no experience of mine-sweeping, and had only vague ideas as to how the mines were to be located."What's she doin' of, bor?" he questioned, when they were far out in the blue water, watching a seaplane sweeping overhead and flying to and fro athwart the gunboat's course."Well," said Mark Redisham, "I'm not certain; but I suppose she's looking for mines. They're not floating right on the surface, you know. They're held just about a foot below low water level, so that when a vessel passes she'll go bang on to them. But the pilot up there can see them, as a gannet sees a fish, and I expect he'll drop a signal when he spots one."For something like an hour the seaplane searched, followed by the gunboat, with the trawlers moving in pairs in her wake.When at length a signal was sent down that mines had been sighted, "dans," or small buoys with flags attached, were put out to mark the spot from which operations were to begin. Each couple of trawlers got ready their dredge tackle, dropping over the stern a long wire rope, heavily weighted. The weight drawn by each boat was connected with that of its partner by a yet longer wire hawser, weighted to keep it submerged and stretched below the level of the floating mines. The two vessels, ranging themselves on either side of the mine-field, steamed ahead on a parallel course, so that their submerged gear should catch upon the mooring-lines and sweep up the mines floating between them.This process was carried on simultaneously by the other trawlers, clearing a wide lane through the mine-field, while the gunboat and the seaplane continued their searching for new fields.When the mines were thus caught and brought to the surface, they were exploded from a safe distance by gunfire. You may be sure there were many narrow escapes from serious accident.During the first afternoon, theDaintyand her working partner, theRipple, brought up two mines together. They came into violent contact with each other, exploding so close astern of theRipplethat she was caught in the edge of the upheaval and badly damaged. Her crew made for the boat, thinking that all was over with them; but her skipper controlled them, and himself crawled below into the narrow space near the screw shaft, discovered the damage, and stopped the leak sufficiently to enable the pumps to keep the water down and save the ship.Within a quarter of an hour of this accident, one of the other trawlers struck a mine and was shattered to fragments.At the end of two days, the field having been cleared, the gunboat returned to port. Shortly after she had gone, Mark Redisham and his companions watched a squadron of British dreadnoughts and cruisers steaming safely across the area from which the danger had been so industriously removed.Their trails of smoke had hardly faded from the horizon when Mark, still looking in the direction in which they had disappeared, noticed a curious disturbance in the calm water, about a couple of miles away.At first he thought it was a school of gambolling porpoises showing their fins, but presently the periscopes and conning-tower of a submarine rose to the surface. The conning-tower was marked "U15," and he knew by this that she was German.It seemed to him that she had probably been lurking in wait for the battleships that had just passed. If so, she had certainly missed her chance of doing them any damage. One of her officers climbed out to the conning-tower platform, looked searchingly around the sea, but quickly disappeared again, and the submarine dived, having paid no attention to the trawlers.Mark, taking counsel with the skipper, went into the wireless operating-room and sent out a message, reporting what he had seen and giving the position. He did not expect his message to be picked up; but within an hour a British light cruiser came racing down from the north at twenty-five knot speed. The skipper and Mark watched her through their binoculars as she drew nearer, and identified her as H.M.S.Carlisle. They saw her suddenly alter her course, as though to avoid the mine-sweepers and possible floating mines."Her needn't be afeared," said Snowling. "Thar aren't no mines here now. Suppose you signals her, bor, and tells her it's all right!""Hold hard!" cried Mark. "Look! Look what she's after!"In direct advance of the cruiser, he distinguished for a moment the two periscopes of the enemy submarine making a ripple as they moved through the calm water. In that same moment there was a gush of fire and smoke from one of the warship's 6-inch guns. A fountain of spray rose high into the sunlit air from where the shell had fallen. One of the periscopes seemed to have been struck. The submarine, evidently crippled, was emptying her ballast tanks to rise to the surface when a second shell struck her half-submerged conning-tower, smashing it like an egg."That's what I calls good marksmanship," declared old Harry Snowling. And going to the flag-halyard, he dipped his white ensign in salute.The nearest of the trawlers hastened to the spot where the shattered submarine had gone down, hoping to save some lives; but nothing was found but a slimy patch of floating oil.TheCarlislecame within speaking distance of the trawlers, standing by for about an hour, and gave information of a new mine-field sown between the Dogger Bank and the Bight of Heligoland. Ten British trawlers, it was stated, had been captured by a German cruiser—theSchwalbe—which had taken them in to Emden. Their crews had been kept prisoners, and the boats had been fitted out as mine-layers to scatter mines indiscriminately wherever ships could sail.The mine-sweepers were supposed to work in stretches of ten days at sea and six in port; but theDaintyand her companions continued at their task a longer time, for the danger was greater than ever the Royal Navy had counted upon.Many neutral ships and fishing craft had been blown up, a British gunboat had been sunk, another badly damaged, and it was imperative that the seas should be kept clear. But at length a relief squadron from Grimsby came out to take over the work, and the Haddisport boats were dismissed for home.Early on the next morning, Mark Redisham started up in his bunk, hearing the engines coming to a dead stop. He dressed himself in his oilskins and went out upon the rain-splashed deck. To his surprise he saw that a submarine had come close alongside. It was the H29, of which, as he remembered, his friend, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, was the commanding officer. One of her crew had been taken ill, and Lieutenant Ingoldsby wished theDaintyto take the man on board and nurse him until he could be put ashore in Haddisport.The sick man had been carried over a gangway thrown across between the two vessels when Mark, happening to glance over theDainty'sfarther bulwark, in search of the rest of the squadron which had gone on in advance, saw instead the dim shape of a three-funnelled cruiser looming ghostlike through the rain mist. She was flying no ensign, but by the look of her he was almost sure she was not British.Not asking himself why he did so, he strode across the gangway to where Lieutenant Ingoldsby knelt, doing something with a spanner, on the narrow deck abaft the conning-tower."Good-morning, sir," he began. "I think the cruiser over there is signalling.""Cruiser?" repeated Lieutenant Ingoldsby, springing to his feet. He climbed a few rungs up the ladder of the conning-tower, and looked out over the wheel-house of theDainty, behind which the submarine was well hidden."Just slip below and ask Jardine for my glasses, Redisham," he ordered. "I believe it's theSchwalbe—the ship we've been stalking! In fact, I'm sure!"Mark had never before been on board a submarine, and when he got to the foot of the perpendicular ladder of the hatchway, he became confused by the strange complexity of tanks and machinery. An electric light shone in the far end of a narrow passage. He was making his difficult way towards it when the great boom of a naval gun startled him. TheSchwalbewas opening fire on the mine-sweepers.He stood still. The silence following the gun shot was broken by the banging of an iron door above his head, and the sharply-spoken command rang out in Lieutenant Ingoldsby's voice:"Prepare to dive!"
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.Atreushad been sunk by a floating mine. Among the first of the townspeople to hear the news was Darby Catchpole.
Darby had come ashore from theMignonette, 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 theWhat's Wanted, adding that another steam trawler, thePied 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 theAtreuswere 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—theThor—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 theThorsetting 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 theMinna von Barnhelmfailed 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 theMinna 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—theAtreus. 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.
"Listen, my son," he resumed, speaking very low. "This morning I have had a secret dispatch from Berlin. Everything goes well. Our brave soldiers are sweeping their way through Belgium. In a week they will march triumphantly into Paris. We shall have taken possession of Calais. The way to England will then be easy. Our battleships and submarines will command the Channel, and all the seas; cutting off supplies so effectually that Great Britain will be starved into submission, even before our transports and Zeppelins land their invading forces. Your opportunities, my dear Max, are even brighter than I had dared to dream."
He paused, drawing his son closer into the shielding shadows of the tree.
"But this delay in our getting over to Wilhelmshaven is most unfortunate," he continued. "As it happens, you had better have gone right across in the ketch, instead of changing into theMinna. As for myself——"
"Why didn't you go by the mail-boat from Harwich?" Max interrupted.
"My dear boy," exclaimed his father, "I waited for your message. All our plans—everything—depended upon my knowing the bearings of theMinnaand my getting on board of her, as we planned."
"And now," pursued Max, "what do you propose to do?"
"Listen!" rejoined Herr Hilliger, still speaking in a cautiously low voice. "Everything that we now do must be in the service of the Emperor and the Fatherland. You and I are no longer concerned with England, in any way whatever, excepting in hastening her complete downfall. Great Britain must be beaten to the dust. And I have come to the determination that for the present we can best serve the Kaiser's cause by my going at once to Wilhelmshaven, leaving you here in England."
"Leaving me here?" cried Max in surprise. "But why? Why should I, a German, remain here among our enemies?"
"To be of the greatest use to his Majesty the Kaiser," returned Herr Hilliger. "You have been associated with the English people. You know them; you speak like one of them; you can pass yourself off anywhere as English. You can look about you without being suspected, seeing things which it is important that the Admiral and his captains should know."
"What?" Max ground his heel into the gravel. "You want me to stop here and find out the secrets of our enemies—to continue your underhand work of sending private information to Germany about the British fleet? You want me to betray the people who have been my friends? No, my father, I cannot do that. I am a German; I will fight for Germany. I will give up my life for the Fatherland. But I will not pretend to be what I am not. I will not be a spy."
Herr Hilliger laughed, a low, contemptuous laugh.
"My dear Max," he said, "since when did you learn that to be a true patriot it is necessary to consider the advantages of your country's enemies? It is nonsense. Your highest duty, as my son and as a German, is to do all you can against the arrogant English. You shall obey me. Do you understand? Tell me, once: how many people know that you are here in Haddisport? How many know that your life was saved when the British cruiser was blown to pieces by our faithful explosive mine?"
"Nobody knows," Max answered sullenly. "Nobody on board the destroyer which picked me up knew me, even by sight. I did not intend that any one should guess I was a German. Nobody who was on board theAtreusknows that I was not blown to bits—except—yes, except Mark Redisham. He saw me swimming. But he doesn't know that I was saved."
"Ah!" nodded Herr Hilliger. "And he need never know. He must never know—never. It is better that he should believe that you were drowned."
Max clutched at his father's arm, pressing him back upon the grass behind the tree.
"Some one comes!" he whispered agitatedly.
They both saw the lithe figure of a youth approaching silently up the drive. He paused for a moment, looking at the front door of the dark, deserted house, strode to the porchway, and quickly ran up the steps. In the silence the two watchers heard the tinkling of an electric bell; but neither moved. Strange that they should thus hide themselves in their own garden!
They waited, knowing that the door would not be opened. Herr Hilliger ventured to lean out and look towards the porch. As he did so, the revolving beam of light from the lighthouse, half a mile away, illumined the trees, travelled slowly over the towers and gables of the dwelling, glinted for an instant on the upper windows, then spread its glow across the sea. Against this glow he saw the figure on the doorstep, clearly defined.
"It is one of your Sea Scouts," he whispered.
The Sea Scout ran lightly down the steps, turned, and came quickly nearer, walking so quietly on the gravel that Max could only believe that he wore tennis shoes. Then, as he came yet closer, to within a couple of yards of the two Germans, again the beam from the lighthouse swung round and shone in his face.
It was the face of Mark Redisham.
CHAPTER VI.
WHAT MARK FOUND IN THE PIGEON-LOFT.
The two watchers under the sycamore-tree held themselves so very still and silent that even if he had been searching for them Mark Redisham might have passed by without a suspicion that they were so near. His well-trained senses were alert, but he was not consciously listening for any betraying sound or looking for any movement.
He went on along the gravel drive with confident stride until he reached the stables. Here he paused, glancing backward before entering the gateway of the yard. He had expected to find the gate shut and bolted, and was surprised to see that the door of the motor-garage also was open.
The place was in darkness, but he noticed that the motor-car was not there. This appeared to indicate that, although the family might have gone home to Germany, yet they had not dismissed all their servants. Mark reflected that probably the chauffeur, who acted also as gardener, had been left in charge of the house and grounds until the property should be sold or otherwise disposed of.
Mark had no intention of asking the caretaker's sanction to do what he had come to do. Indeed, it gratified him that his precautionary ringing of the hall hell had not been answered. He went boldly into the stables.
Knowing that he was about to use his electric torch, he closed the door behind him, lest the light should be seen. He knew the place well. Even in this past summer the Lion Patrol had had a scout game at Sunnydene. Pickets had been stationed at various points, and it had been his own part to steal into the grounds and make his way in the darkness into the harness-room without being caught.
He was now engaged in no ordinary scouting game, but in a serious duty imposed upon him by the officer in command at the naval base, and it was even more important that he should not be detected.
Feeling along the whitewashed wall, he touched the ladder leading to the loft. Up this he climbed through the trap-door.
He stood for some moments looking about him in the darkness of the loft. In the high door by which hay and straw were brought in there was a small hole, on a level with his eyes. Swallows used it as an entrance to their nests in the rafters. Going up to it and peering outward, he could distinguish the dark level of the sea, and presently the ruby gleam of the Alderwick lightship appeared, grew brighter, and faded against the dim horizon.
Mark realised that, if from here he could see that ruby gleam, it was certain that the crew of the lightship could equally well see the flash of his electric torch. Was it not possible that Heinrich Hilliger had used this hole in the loft door through which to flash his signals? Mark covered the hole by hanging his cap on a nail just above it.
Then he turned and closed the trap in the floor. It made more noise in falling than he had intended. Whether it was the displacement of air or his own fancy, there seemed to be a corresponding sound down below, as if another door had been suddenly shut, and as if the key of that other door had been turned in the lock.
"I suppose I'm a bit nervous," he said to himself. "It couldn't have been anything." He drew out his torch, pressed the switch, and turned the shaft of light upon the partition beyond which Hilliger's pigeons were kept. The key was in the door. Feeling like a guilty burglar, he turned it and entered, shielding the light from the open space in the gable by which the pigeons flew in and out.
There were no pigeons here now. The coops and perches were empty. He supposed that Herr Hilliger had taken the birds away with him, to use them in carrying secret messages back to England; although, as yet, there was no proof that Herr Hilliger had ever actually used any of his pigeons for this purpose.
Mark made a rapid survey of the untidy loft, with its lumber of old harness, rusty garden tools, bundles of sacking, broken fishing-rods, and discarded cricket bats. On a low shelf were some model yachts with torn sails and tangled rigging. He looked at the rough model of a steam trawler. The boat was curiously constructed with a boxed-in and bottomless well. Inside this well there was a crude model of a submarine. Some one—Max Hilliger, perhaps—had evidently attempted to invent a device by which a real submarine might be hidden within the casement of a larger vessel, thus enabling it to be brought close to an enemy without being discovered. The idea was ingenious, but obviously not practical.
In a corner cupboard he discovered a box of electric light bulbs of various colours. The sight of these led him to search for electric wires. He saw none; but what he did find was a portable electric lamp coiled round with a wire so exceedingly long that, as he estimated, the switch might be worked here in the loft while the bulb could be cunningly planted amongst the gorse bushes halfway down the cliff, there to flash its signals of coloured light.
Mark wondered if he should take the lamp away with him, but decided to leave it untouched. If as he believed, Herr Hilliger was already on his way back to Germany, and if Max were drowned, there could be no more risk of their communicating with the enemy.
He turned his torch upon the long trestle table at the far end of the loft. It was littered with feathers and grain, and thick with dust. But in the midst of the litter were several things which he considered it his duty to examine. The first article he touched was a match-box, half full of very small elastic bands. Beside it was a spool of thin, narrow paper.
"Here's proof enough!" he reflected with satisfaction. For he recognised the paper and the elastic bands as being precisely similar to the material found on the leg of the pigeon shot by Darby Catchpole from the deck of theWhat's Wanted.
For a little while longer he continued his search. From a pile of old newspapers and tattered books, he idly drew forth a long, tin cylinder, thinking at first it was a telescope case. The lid had been jammed on crookedly, and he had difficulty in pulling it off with the help of his knife. When he succeeded at last in opening the canister, he saw that it contained several tightly-rolled sheets of paper. He spread them out on the table. They were maps, plans, and charts, very carefully drawn.
The uppermost one was a general map of the coast, including Haddisport and Buremouth, with the villages between and a wide strip of the sea, divided into numbered sections. The others—and there were some twenty of them—were detailed enlargements of the same sections, upon which were shown the principal buildings of the two towns, the particulars of the harbours and railways, with every road and lane and bridge, every field and coppice and house, distinctly indicated.
Mark Redisham had never seen such wonderful maps, or imagined that any existed so complete and correct. Nothing seemed to have been overlooked. On the margins of each sheet were notes, written in German, with numbers referring to certain features in the plans.
Mark saw much that he did not then understand; but there was one sheet in particular which was perfectly clear to him. It was a large scale chart of the section of the North Sea immediately facing Haddisport, giving the exact soundings of the channels and shallows and showing an outline of the coast, with every altitude measured.
The soundings of Alderwick Knoll were so precise and plentiful that it was evident to him that some important purpose was connected with this sand-bank. He could hardly doubt, indeed, that the chart had been prepared for the guidance of an enemy attempting an invasion!
So greatly was he impressed by this idea, that he became nervously excited over his discovery. What was he to do? Should he carry these charts and maps away with him, now—to-night? He had not been instructed to take anything away with him; but only to "have a look round" and report upon any discovery he might happen to make.
Thinking over the situation for a few swift moments, he determined to obey his orders to the letter. Accordingly, he returned the sheets to the map-case, put the case back where he had found it, and prepared to leave the loft.
He left no trace of his secret visit. Taking his cap and pocketing his torch, he climbed down the ladder into the garage. He pushed lightly at the door; but it did not swing open. He pushed it harder; still it resisted. Then he put his shoulder to it and gave it a shove. It did not move. He grappled with it, trying with all his strength to force it open and, realised, to his alarm, that it had been locked from the outside!
He grew hot and cold by turns. Had he been watched, stealing into these stables where he had no business which he could truthfully explain? If so, who could it be that had watched and trapped him? It could not be Heinrich Hilliger himself, or Max. Herr Hilliger had gone back to Germany. Max was drowned. The chauffeur had not returned with the car. Once more he put his shoulder to the door. No. It was certainly locked! He was a prisoner!
But Mark Redisham was not a Sea Scout for nothing. There were more ways than one of getting out. He tried the door of the harness-room. That, too, was locked. Yet there was still another door, leading into the stable. It opened with a simple latch and he crossed to the door giving on to the yard. Again he was foiled.
He looked to the window. It was heavily barred.
But not even now did he despair. Beyond the vacant horse-boxes was a small opening in the wall—a hatch through which the stable refuse was forked out. This hatch, he knew, was fastened only on the inside by a hook and staple. In a moment he had flung it open, to climb out without further hindrances and make his way among the fruit trees and across the tennis lawn to the back gate of the Sunnydene property, and into the Alderwick road.
Five minutes after his escape, he was at home in his father's library, sending his report by telephone to the naval base.
His father, Major Redisham, had gone off to join his regiment, and the family supper was in consequence a melancholy meal. Mark said nothing of his visit to Sunnydene; but he was at liberty to tell his mother and sisters of the exciting events of the day—the loss of theWhat's Wanted, the sinking of the German mine-layer, and the terrible disaster to theAtreus.
"So you see," he concluded, "Rod was present at the firing of the first naval gun of the war!"
"Yes," said his mother; "but unfortunately Rodney's ship cannot be replaced, or the brave men who went down with her. He may not get another appointment for a long time. Is he coming home to-night, Mark?"
Mark shook his head.
"No, mother," he answered. "He was kept aboard the destroyer—theLevity. The whole flotilla went off to sea again as soon as the wounded were put ashore for hospital."
"I suppose they've gone to join the main fleet," his sister Vera conjectured. "Of course, the German battleships are out, and there'll be a great battle."
"The destroyers went south, however," Mark explained, "and the enemy fleet is much more likely to be hanging round off the Dogger Bank than down there in the narrow seas. It's my idea that the destroyers have gone into the Channel."
"Why?" questioned Vera. "What's the good of their going into the Channel when the Germans are in the North Sea? We want to fight them, don't we?"
"Well, you see," resumed Mark, "the British Army will be crossing to France. You don't suppose that ever so many of our transports—big liners crowded with troops—will be allowed to go over by themselves, at the risk of being sunk by German submarines? They've got to be protected on both flanks. I expect they'll steam across through quite an avenue of cruisers and destroyers."
Later, when Mark was saying good-night before going sleepily to bed, there was a ring at the front-door bell.
"Master Mark is wanted," the parlourmaid announced agitatedly. "There's a policeman and a lot of soldiers."
No longer sleepy, Mark hurried into the hall, where he found Constable Challis, Mr. Bilverstone, and two men in khaki.
"What's up?" he cried, seeing that the two soldiers were armed with rifles and fixed bayonets. "Are the Germans coming?"
"We want you to go with us," Arnold Bilverstone explained. "Get on your overcoat, and bring your electric torch. We're going to make a raid on Herr Hilliger's pigeon-loft."
Mark was quickly ready to march off at the head of the company. As they filed into the Sunnydene ground they saw that the house was in total darkness.
Leaving one of the sentries posted outside the stable yard, Mr. Bilverstone led the way round to the rear of the outhouses, where he posted the second sentry. Mark crossed the tennis-court, dodged under the fruit trees, and crawled through the hatch door which he had left unfastened. Mr. Bilverstone and Constable Challis followed him through the stable and into the garage. They mounted one by one into the loft. Mark flashed his torchlight along the floor, up into the rafters, and again along the floor. Then he stooped and picked up the stub of a cigarette, sniffed at it and shook his head.
"Somebody has been here!" he cried. "The end of this cigarette's still wet."
He went beyond the partition and began to search. But his search was in vain. The maps, the electric signalling-lamp and coloured bulbs, the model of the submarine, the spool of paper, the elastic bands—all had been cleared away. Nothing remained to show that the place was more than an abandoned pigeon-loft.
CHAPTER VII.
UNDER THE WHITE ENSIGN.
Because he was a Sea Scout, clever at semaphore signalling, with a knowledge of seamanship, resourceful, and generally handy, Mark Redisham had no difficulty in entering the Royal Naval Reserve, the more especially as he was strongly recommended by Captain Damant. It satisfied him greatly to be appointed at once as signal-boy and wireless operator on board His Majesty's steam trawlerDainty.
She was named theDaintywhen launched, and as theDaintyshe had toiled and battled for three stormy winters on the wild North Sea. But now her impudent white and red funnel and her gaudy hull were painted a sombre war grey, her trawling gear had been altered, her fish-well turned into a cabin, and the name on her bows had given place to the number 99. She was no longer a mere fishing craft, but classed as one of the great new fleet of naval mine-sweepers, flying the white ensign, and manned by a crew of sturdy East Coast fishermen wearing the blue jacket and loose trousers and flat-topped caps of the British Navy.
It was a proud moment for Mark when early on the morning following the "raid" on the pigeon-loft he went on duty, and theDaintysteamed out of Haddisport harbour and bore northward abreast of the lighthouse and past his home on the cliff. She was one of a squadron of twelve, and they went out in the company of the torpedo gunboatRapid.
Word had come that the Germans had sown an extensive mine-field to the west and south of the Dogger Bank, scattering their deadly explosives over the seas, to the peril of peaceful trading vessels as well as of any British battleships and cruisers that might enter the area of danger. Two Danish cargo steamers and half a dozen English fishing boats had already been blown up, and our busy scavengers of the sea were now to go out and rake up the carefully-sown seedlings of death.
The work was dangerous, for at any moment one of the stout little vessels of the squadron might find a mine with her keel instead of with her stretched wire hawser, which meant ten more good men sent to the bottom. And there was always the risk of a premature explosion if a mine had to be handled in releasing it from its moorings.
Mines are not pleasant things to handle at any time—certainly not such powerful ones as the Germans employ, with glass "beards," or projecting spikes, the breaking of one of which results in an explosion great enough to sink a Dreadnought! They are charged, not with gun-cotton, but with the even stronger explosive known as T.N.T., which has the quality that if the mine filled with it strikes a ship it blows in the side of the vessel and then continues its destructive work in the interior.
The skipper of mine-sweeper 99 was Harry Snowling, R.N.R., an old salt who had fished for thirty years on the North Sea, and knew its deeps and shallows as well as he knew the lines on his own honest, weather-beaten face. But, of course, he had had no experience of mine-sweeping, and had only vague ideas as to how the mines were to be located.
"What's she doin' of, bor?" he questioned, when they were far out in the blue water, watching a seaplane sweeping overhead and flying to and fro athwart the gunboat's course.
"Well," said Mark Redisham, "I'm not certain; but I suppose she's looking for mines. They're not floating right on the surface, you know. They're held just about a foot below low water level, so that when a vessel passes she'll go bang on to them. But the pilot up there can see them, as a gannet sees a fish, and I expect he'll drop a signal when he spots one."
For something like an hour the seaplane searched, followed by the gunboat, with the trawlers moving in pairs in her wake.
When at length a signal was sent down that mines had been sighted, "dans," or small buoys with flags attached, were put out to mark the spot from which operations were to begin. Each couple of trawlers got ready their dredge tackle, dropping over the stern a long wire rope, heavily weighted. The weight drawn by each boat was connected with that of its partner by a yet longer wire hawser, weighted to keep it submerged and stretched below the level of the floating mines. The two vessels, ranging themselves on either side of the mine-field, steamed ahead on a parallel course, so that their submerged gear should catch upon the mooring-lines and sweep up the mines floating between them.
This process was carried on simultaneously by the other trawlers, clearing a wide lane through the mine-field, while the gunboat and the seaplane continued their searching for new fields.
When the mines were thus caught and brought to the surface, they were exploded from a safe distance by gunfire. You may be sure there were many narrow escapes from serious accident.
During the first afternoon, theDaintyand her working partner, theRipple, brought up two mines together. They came into violent contact with each other, exploding so close astern of theRipplethat she was caught in the edge of the upheaval and badly damaged. Her crew made for the boat, thinking that all was over with them; but her skipper controlled them, and himself crawled below into the narrow space near the screw shaft, discovered the damage, and stopped the leak sufficiently to enable the pumps to keep the water down and save the ship.
Within a quarter of an hour of this accident, one of the other trawlers struck a mine and was shattered to fragments.
At the end of two days, the field having been cleared, the gunboat returned to port. Shortly after she had gone, Mark Redisham and his companions watched a squadron of British dreadnoughts and cruisers steaming safely across the area from which the danger had been so industriously removed.
Their trails of smoke had hardly faded from the horizon when Mark, still looking in the direction in which they had disappeared, noticed a curious disturbance in the calm water, about a couple of miles away.
At first he thought it was a school of gambolling porpoises showing their fins, but presently the periscopes and conning-tower of a submarine rose to the surface. The conning-tower was marked "U15," and he knew by this that she was German.
It seemed to him that she had probably been lurking in wait for the battleships that had just passed. If so, she had certainly missed her chance of doing them any damage. One of her officers climbed out to the conning-tower platform, looked searchingly around the sea, but quickly disappeared again, and the submarine dived, having paid no attention to the trawlers.
Mark, taking counsel with the skipper, went into the wireless operating-room and sent out a message, reporting what he had seen and giving the position. He did not expect his message to be picked up; but within an hour a British light cruiser came racing down from the north at twenty-five knot speed. The skipper and Mark watched her through their binoculars as she drew nearer, and identified her as H.M.S.Carlisle. They saw her suddenly alter her course, as though to avoid the mine-sweepers and possible floating mines.
"Her needn't be afeared," said Snowling. "Thar aren't no mines here now. Suppose you signals her, bor, and tells her it's all right!"
"Hold hard!" cried Mark. "Look! Look what she's after!"
In direct advance of the cruiser, he distinguished for a moment the two periscopes of the enemy submarine making a ripple as they moved through the calm water. In that same moment there was a gush of fire and smoke from one of the warship's 6-inch guns. A fountain of spray rose high into the sunlit air from where the shell had fallen. One of the periscopes seemed to have been struck. The submarine, evidently crippled, was emptying her ballast tanks to rise to the surface when a second shell struck her half-submerged conning-tower, smashing it like an egg.
"That's what I calls good marksmanship," declared old Harry Snowling. And going to the flag-halyard, he dipped his white ensign in salute.
The nearest of the trawlers hastened to the spot where the shattered submarine had gone down, hoping to save some lives; but nothing was found but a slimy patch of floating oil.
TheCarlislecame within speaking distance of the trawlers, standing by for about an hour, and gave information of a new mine-field sown between the Dogger Bank and the Bight of Heligoland. Ten British trawlers, it was stated, had been captured by a German cruiser—theSchwalbe—which had taken them in to Emden. Their crews had been kept prisoners, and the boats had been fitted out as mine-layers to scatter mines indiscriminately wherever ships could sail.
The mine-sweepers were supposed to work in stretches of ten days at sea and six in port; but theDaintyand her companions continued at their task a longer time, for the danger was greater than ever the Royal Navy had counted upon.
Many neutral ships and fishing craft had been blown up, a British gunboat had been sunk, another badly damaged, and it was imperative that the seas should be kept clear. But at length a relief squadron from Grimsby came out to take over the work, and the Haddisport boats were dismissed for home.
Early on the next morning, Mark Redisham started up in his bunk, hearing the engines coming to a dead stop. He dressed himself in his oilskins and went out upon the rain-splashed deck. To his surprise he saw that a submarine had come close alongside. It was the H29, of which, as he remembered, his friend, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, was the commanding officer. One of her crew had been taken ill, and Lieutenant Ingoldsby wished theDaintyto take the man on board and nurse him until he could be put ashore in Haddisport.
The sick man had been carried over a gangway thrown across between the two vessels when Mark, happening to glance over theDainty'sfarther bulwark, in search of the rest of the squadron which had gone on in advance, saw instead the dim shape of a three-funnelled cruiser looming ghostlike through the rain mist. She was flying no ensign, but by the look of her he was almost sure she was not British.
Not asking himself why he did so, he strode across the gangway to where Lieutenant Ingoldsby knelt, doing something with a spanner, on the narrow deck abaft the conning-tower.
"Good-morning, sir," he began. "I think the cruiser over there is signalling."
"Cruiser?" repeated Lieutenant Ingoldsby, springing to his feet. He climbed a few rungs up the ladder of the conning-tower, and looked out over the wheel-house of theDainty, behind which the submarine was well hidden.
"Just slip below and ask Jardine for my glasses, Redisham," he ordered. "I believe it's theSchwalbe—the ship we've been stalking! In fact, I'm sure!"
Mark had never before been on board a submarine, and when he got to the foot of the perpendicular ladder of the hatchway, he became confused by the strange complexity of tanks and machinery. An electric light shone in the far end of a narrow passage. He was making his difficult way towards it when the great boom of a naval gun startled him. TheSchwalbewas opening fire on the mine-sweepers.
He stood still. The silence following the gun shot was broken by the banging of an iron door above his head, and the sharply-spoken command rang out in Lieutenant Ingoldsby's voice:
"Prepare to dive!"