CHAPTER XXI.THE RAIDERS.Whether Seligmann's wireless messages had anything to do with the matter or not can only be conjectured. But it is true that at earliest dawn on that same misty, November morning the fishermen of the Haddisport herring fleet, at work with their drift nets south of the Dogger Bank, were surprised by the sudden appearance in their midst of a squadron of eight grey-hulled Dreadnoughts and cruisers, bearing due westward at breakneck speed.Looming out of the mist, they tore onward through the nets, regardless of the damage they caused. They showed no lights, even from their cabin portholes; they flew no flags.One of the skippers, watching them, was so sure that they were British battleships that he waved his morning teapot at them in greeting; but some of the Englishmen shook their heads in doubt. There were peculiarities in the structure of the ships which were not familiar.They passed so close to theMignonettethat Sam Quester, perched on the roof of the cuddy scuttle, saw the faces of the officers on bridge and quarterdeck, and was able afterwards to assert that he was almost sure one of the officers on the leading Dreadnought was Max Hilliger's father.By the time they had passed out of sight into the mist the fishermen had come to the correct conclusion that the squadron was a part of the German High Sea Fleet. But what was their purpose? Where were they going at such a headlong rate? And where in the meantime was the British Fleet?Twenty miles farther to the westward the Germans were again seen, flying the White Ensign, this time by a patrol of English mine-sweepers, which immediately sent out a wireless message of warning. The enemy flagship tried to jam the message. Nevertheless it was picked up by His Majesty's torpedo gunboatKingfisher, lying at anchor in Buremouth Roads. TheKingfishersent the warning onward, to be repeated and repeated north and south about the sea.How did it happen that the Germans knew so well that on this particular morning they were in no danger of being intercepted by British cruisers? Had this been the secret of Fritz Seligmann's activity that night?The wireless message from theKingfisherreached the naval bases of Buremouth and Haddisport. Off Buremouth two destroyers were at anchor. They at once got up steam and pushed out in the wake of the gunboat. At Haddisport there was a submarine—the H29. She was ordered to follow. But where was her commander, Lieutenant Ingoldsby?By the merest chance, Mark Redisham heard the question asked. He had come to the naval base to report the arrest of Fritz Seligmann, using Seligmann's car, which he had left at the pier-head. Constable Challis had told him that Lieutenant Ingoldsby had gone with Mrs. Daplin-Gennery to Floxley Hall, outside Buremouth.Mark gave the information to Mr. Bilverstone, who telephoned to Green Croft and got a prompt answer. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery had just returned; but had left her nephew at the bedside of his wounded friend."All right, sir," said Mark, "I'll go and fetch him."It was a journey of nineteen miles there and back, but Seligmann's car was a powerful one, well supplied with petrol, and Mark Redisham was an expert and cautious driver. He posted off to Floxley Hall at top speed.Meanwhile, the enemy Dreadnoughts and cruisers were still being watched from the decks of the patrolling trawlers. They were racing towards the English coast, their tall funnels belching black clouds of smoke, their officers and men all at their fighting quarters, their heavy guns loaded, their torpedo-tubes charged."They look as if they was skelterin' away from an enemy," observed one of the English skippers. "But hold hard! They'll go slap into our mine-field, sure's a gun, the course they're makin'. Taren't possible they can hit the open lane."A field of defensive contact mines had been laid for the protection of the coast, with secret gaps or passages which were supposed to be known only to naval men and responsible pilots. It was clear, however, that the Germans were well aware, not only of the exact locality of the mined area, but also of the open lanes through which they might pass in safety, for without slackening speed the ships rushed through in an unbroken procession, never swerving until they came within sight of the Alderwick lightship.Here they separated into two divisions, the one steering direct for Buremouth, the other for Haddisport.TheKingfisher, steaming out to inquire into the truth of the wireless message she had received, made her presence known by flashing her searchlight through the gloom of the early morning mist. The enemy flagship, bearing west-by-south, instead of answering the signal, opened fire upon the British gunboat, at the same time showing the German flag in place of the White Ensign.Confronted by so formidable an antagonist, the littleKingfisher, with her smaller four-inch guns, could not attempt to engage. She fired seven shots, which all dropped short, while shells were falling all round her. One struck her foremast and smashed her aerials, another exploded under her bridge, fatally injuring a seaman at her steering-wheel and cutting the compass in half.The two destroyers raced up to her help, making as much smoke as possible to hide her. All three, hopelessly outranged, could only steam about in a zig-zag course at their fullest speed and at length take refuge in the mist.The battleships did not follow in pursuit. It was not their intention to enter into a sea fight, if one could be avoided. Theirs was the sinister purpose of bombarding defenceless towns and spreading "frightfulness" amongst unoffending civilians.While one division of the squadron branched off to pour their devastating shells into the houses of Buremouth, the other steamed abreast of Alderwick Shoal, and from the security of the deep water sent salvo after salvo into the buildings of Haddisport.From the bridge of the flagship Heinrich Hilliger bent his binoculars upon his own house to seek for a signal which he failed to discover, or, rather, which was never displayed, his faithful secretary being at the time securely confined within the narrow walls of a prisoner's cell in Haddisport police-station.Not finding the expected signal, Herr Hilliger transferred his attention to the business in hand, indicating the particular houses and buildings at which he desired the gunlayers to take especial aim: first, Green Croft, associated in his mind with the mischievous submarine commander, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, whose torpedoes had robbed the Kaiser's High Sea Fleet of at least two important ships; and then in turn the lighthouse, the parish church, the town hall, the chief hotels, the harbour, and finally the naval base, with its wireless station and battery of guns.Mark Redisham and Lieutenant Ingoldsby, tearing in their motor-car along the deserted highroad, had heard the booming of heavy guns out at sea. The alarming sounds drew nearer and nearer, from two directions."They're bombarding Buremouth as well as Haddisport, sir," Mark declared, leaning forward to increase his speed."Faster! faster!" cried Ingoldsby. "Give her all she can do. Let her rip. But keep your head—keep cool—keep a sharp look-out!"Mark had no need to be urged or cautioned. He had perfect control of the machine; he knew every turn and curve, every dip and rise of the road. The telegraph poles flashed by as if they had been park railings set side by side, and there was no traffic to interfere with his onward, headlong pace.As they left Alderwick village behind, and dashed along the open highway across the moorland, the first shell from the German battleships shrieked over their heads; a second crashed into one of the houses on the esplanade; another laid the lighthouse in ruins.In the town shells were falling thick and fast, exploding with deafening noise. In the market-place a big hotel was on fire, and the car was checked by a crowd of excited people; but Mark made his way through, sounding his hooter, and arrived without hurt at the harbour, where the submarine was waiting ready for her commander to jump aboard.The bombardment lasted some thirty minutes. The ships, dimly visible through the mist and smoke, steamed southward abreast of the town, firing their eleven-inch shells from starboard. Then they returned and repeated the manoeuvre, firing from their port sides and ending where they had begun. It was not safe for them to continue any longer, since every moment added to the danger of their retreat being cut off by a squadron of British Dreadnoughts racing towards them in response to urgent wireless messages.Favoured by the fog, they took to flight, the battleships leading in order to give the smaller cruisers in the rear the opportunity of dropping some hundreds of explosive mines in their wake.Already submarine H29, with Lieutenant Ingoldsby at his post in the conning-tower, had entered into pursuit, making for the gap in the British mine-field through which alone the enemy ships could pass. But he had not counted on their hasty retreat or calculated the speed of their flight.As they crossed in advance of him, not seeing his periscope, he fired his two bow torpedoes, and missed. He got astern of them and fired two more. But just as the missiles left their tubes there was an ominous crash and a fierce explosion.The submarine had run up against one of the Germans' floating mines, which broke her like an egg, and the H29 and all who were in her sank to their last resting-place at the bottom of the North Sea.CHAPTER XXII.CUT AND RUN.Seth Newruck, who lived at the north end of the town, had been to Alderwick Hall to take certain reports and accounts to the Scout Commissioner, and was returning across the fields when he heard the firing of naval guns from somewhere out at sea.He had previously seen the gunboat leave her anchorage, and he believed at first that her gunners were practising, or that perhaps some of the patrolling trawlers were exploding floating mines. He was not alarmed.But very soon the loud, insistent booming convinced him that the guns were heavier than those of theKingfisher, and that some sort of naval engagement was going on out there beyond the curtain of sea mist.He began to run. Coming out upon the highway, he crossed the warren to the edge of the cliff and stood looking out to sea. He could see the flashes of the guns, flickering through the fog like summer lightning.If ships were firing upon theKingfisher, then assuredly they were enemies—a squadron of the German Fleet! Perhaps they were even engaged with a division of our British Dreadnoughts! The thought thrilled him in all his nerves.After a while there was a lull. Seth went on, beyond the ravine, beyond Sunnydene. When he got close to the front gate of Green Croft, and again looked searchingly outward, he distinguished the shadowy forms of three great battleships, led by two light cruisers. They were steaming southward, with their broadsides towards the land.Suddenly, from the foremost battleship, there came a flash. She was hidden in a cloud of smoke. He heard a shrill shriek, and saw a high fountain of spray rise from the deep water inside Alderwick Shoal, where a shot had fallen. At the same moment there was a terrible, ear-splitting, earth-shaking boom.Seth trembled from head to foot; less with fear than with boyish excitement. Was it possible that he was, after all, going to witness at first hand some actual incident of the great war? His heart was beating furiously against his ribs; he went hot and cold by turns. He knew that he stood in danger. The next shot might come farther than the sea!"I wonder if I'm afraid?" he asked himself.Then he thought of the people in the houses near him, and of his duty as a Scout. If the danger should come nearer, how could he give help? He remembered the refuge trench which he had helped to dig in Mrs. Daplin-Gennery's garden. Now most surely was a time for it to be used!He ran in at the gateway and up the gravelled drive. The window blinds were down, the front door was shut. He went round to the back entrance and was about to hammer at the kitchen door when it was flung open.Mrs. Daplin-Gennery stood in the passage, wearing a blue dressing-gown. Her long, black hair hung loose over her shoulders, making her face look very white. Her arms were bare, and he saw that she held a revolver in her right hand. Behind her were other women—her lady's maid, the Irish cook, the parlourmaid, and two others.Seth Newruck raised his hand in the Scouts' salute."You'd better all get into the trench, ma'am," he advised. "There's a lot of German warships out there beyond the sandbank."Even as he spoke there came the loud, whistling rush of a shell overhead and a terrific explosion rent the air as the thing fell somewhere in the fields beyond. The servants screamed. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery alone was calm."Are there troopships and Zeppelins with them?" she questioned. "Are they going to land? Is it an invasion?""No." Seth shook his head. "I don't think so. But, anyhow, you'd better take shelter in the dug-out."Mrs. Daplin-Gennery stood aside, thrusting the others in advance of her. They had more than once rehearsed this scene. One by one they obediently and very quickly rushed forward and disappeared into the sap trench. Their mistress followed, but hesitated half-way down the sunken ladder."You must come, too," she called to Seth. "There is plenty of room."Seth drew back a step and turned as if to leave."As soon as you're all safe in the dug-out," he responded quietly, "I'm going to run home, to look after my mother and sisters. Father's out with the Fleet."There was another loud boom of a gun; but this time it came from the direction of Buremouth."Quick! Come into the trench!" urged Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, now at the foot of the ladder and out of sight. "You'll get killed if you don't. And if they land troops—if it's an invasion—you must stay and defend us helpless women. You're the only male person here. Besides, you're a Scout; you know what to do if any of us are wounded."This argument presented a new aspect of the situation. Seth descended the ladder, and as he turned into the darkness of the sap trench the pistol was thrust into his hand."If a German shows his face, shoot him!" he was ordered."They won't land, ma'am," he declared with confidence, following along the covered way to the refuge of the sunken bicycle shed under its protecting mound of sandbags and earth. "They couldn't land through shoal water."His further assurances were cut short by a deafening explosion. The earth shook, there was a prolonged roar and clatter of tumbling masonry, mingled with the splitting of timber and the crashing of glass."Wirra-wirra!" cried the Irish cook. "It's the house they've struck, and we'll all be kilt entirely!"A shower of loose sand, dislodged by the concussion, fell through the cracks in the roof of the shelter, the support timbers creaked ominously. Then suddenly all was silent except for the cries of the frightened kitchenmaid.Seth ran back along the covered way and found the entrance blocked by a confusion of fallen bricks and garden soil. But there was a second exit which admitted light and air to the refuge, with a second ladder. Up this ladder he climbed and thrust out his head above ground to see what damage had been done and discover if the house were on fire.His nostrils were assailed by the pungent fumes from the exploded eleven-inch shell. Clouds of drifting smoke and dust obscured his view; but as they cleared he saw that the gable end of the house had fallen, carrying with it a chimney-stack and some of the wrecked furniture of an upper room. The windows were all smashed. The shell seemed to have burst somewhere between the adjoining stables and the conservatory, both of which were a mass of ruins."It's a good thing nobody is hurt," he said, returning to report on what he had seen. "You're quite safe now. I don't suppose a second shot will be aimed at the same place."There was another fierce explosion, very near. Again and again the guns boomed out their thunder. The sounds of bursting shells came clear and sharp, repeated again and again as the bombardment of the town was continued."I can't be of any more use here," said Seth, returning the revolver to Mrs. Daplin-Gennery. "When the firing stops, you can get out all right. I must go now. I believe Major Redisham's house has been struck. They're firing their broadsides right into the heart of the town now! Listen!"He was back at the ladder; but the lady's maid held him."Don't leave us!" she implored agitatedly. "It's not all over yet. Stay where you are."He yielded to her entreaties. The enemy ships had gone about and were returning abreast of the town, firing salvos as they passed, steaming very quickly. They must already have got some inkling or suspicion that a squadron of British cruisers was coming down in hot haste from the northward, for abruptly they ceased firing and turned outward, disappearing into the mist. They had run risks out of all proportion to the gain of such a cowardly raid.Straight across from Wilhelmshaven they had made their bold dash for the English coast to bombard a couple of undefended towns which they might attack without venturing too far south or too far north, or lingering too long. If they stayed no more than one brief hour in English waters and then fled for very life, they had reason. Quick of heel and heavy of hand as they were, they owed their escape wholly to the fog which shielded them.Coming out from the trench, Seth Newruck ran through the front garden to the edge of the cliff and saw theKingfisherreturning to port with her topmast broken and her bridge badly battered.He turned in at Major Redisham's gate, hoping to find Mark. The house had not been touched by the shell fire. Mrs. Redisham and her two daughters and servants had taken refuge in their dug-out. They were excited, but not frightened. Their chief anxiety was about Mark, who had gone out after supper on the previous night and not come back.Seth offered to make inquiries concerning him, saying he was sure to be all right somewhere, and ran off again.At the top of the town he encountered Mark in a strange motor-car. Mark pulled up at sight of him."Do you know if my people are safe?" he asked."Yes. I've just seen them," Seth answered. "They're only worried a bit to know where you've been all night. Whose car have you got?""I'm not quite sure," Mark laughed. "I suppose it may be considered a prize of war. We captured it last night, Challis and I, along with the German spy who was using it. Jump in! There's no real need for me to go home, now that I know they're safe. I will telephone to them from the post-office. It's pretty awful down there. Ever so many people have been killed and injured. Mr. Bilverstone has got a whole troop of nurses and stretcher-bearers at work. Come along, we can help."Seth jumped up beside him. They drove past the lighthouse, where a shell had struck and exploded, doing considerable damage, then turned aside to ascertain that Seth's mother and sisters were safe.Some dwelling-houses near the Town Hall had been wrecked. Windows were smashed everywhere; an hotel in the market-place was in ruins.Mark made room for two women and three children who were seriously injured, and conveyed them to the hospital; then he went about the town, using the car for ambulance work and giving first-aid where he could.The hospital staff, the doctors, with the police, the local Scouts, and many other willing helpers were kept busy. Over thirty persons had been killed, more than a hundred were severely injured. The damage to property could not easily be measured, but the most serious destruction was in the crowded quarters of the old town where the fishermen lived. In the course of his work of taking the injured to the hospital, Mark Redisham called at the police-station. A side of the building had been shattered by one of the German shells. The wall and a part of the roof had fallen in, burying a warder and two prisoners in the ruins. Men were engaged in clearing away the debris of bricks and tiles and heavy wooden joists. They had rescued the warder and one of the prisoners, only slightly hurt.Mark waited until the third victim should be found. A heavy beam of timber had to be lifted. It was moved at last, and Mark saw what was beneath it."It's the German spy!" he cried. "It's Fritz Seligmann. He's dead—quite dead!—killed by his own friends!"CHAPTER XXIII.STRIKING THE BALANCE.In their hurried flight from Haddisport and Buremouth, the raiding Germans had made a novel and unexpected departure from the recognised methods of warfare. By dropping floating mines in their wake, they showed that their battleships may be more dangerous in retreat than when advancing.Retreat is not an inspiring proceeding; it depresses the spirits of officers and men, and this would be very evident in the case of the German seamen who had so long boasted of the great things they would accomplish when a naval war came. But if when their ships were in flight the crews knew that they were laying snares to trip up their pursuers their retreat would be robbed of its depressing effects. Any British vessels of war venturing to follow on their heels would inevitably be destroyed.They were not yet hidden in the fog when Lieutenant Ingoldsby's submarine, manoeuvring to torpedo them, ran up against one of their mines and was instantly sunk, with the loss of her gallant commander and every one of his crew. Hardly had the H29 disappeared when two of the patrolling trawlers, steaming up to her rescue, were also sent to the bottom.The German light cruisers must have been fitted for this purpose of mine sowing. When the battleships were advancing, these smaller, high-speed scouts would act as a screen, and in retreat they would keep astern of the big ships, dropping a trail of small mines overboard as they fled.The sacrifice of the H29 and the two trawlers was a serious disaster; but at the same time it taught our Navy a valuable lesson in tactics. Never again would any British warship pursuing a German follow directly in the wake, but always on a parallel course.It was the woundedKingfisherwhich brought into Haddisport the news that a new mine-field had been sown. A fleet of mine-sweepers, led by the gunboatStormcock, was at once sent out. It included theDainty, with Mark Redisham on board, and throughout the rest of that exciting day the people on shore were startled by repeated loud detonations as the floating mines were one after another exploded by gunfire from the trawler's decks.TheDaintyand three of her consorts remained at sea for a week, doing patrol duty—cruising between the English coasts and the Bight of Heligoland in search of enemy ships or ships carrying contraband of war. They were now armed with machine-guns and could defend themselves in emergency.At this time the chief interests of the war were centred upon the commerce destroyers on the outer seas and the military operations in France and Flanders. The Germans were making their great effort to force a way through to Calais. Their navy was hemmed in by the watchful British Fleet, and for a long time after the bombardment of Haddisport the North Sea was clear of their ships. There was no target for British naval guns.Some few of their destroyers and submarines, it is true, contrived to steal out from the protection of their fortified harbours, and two British cruisers—theHawkeand theHermes—were sunk by their torpedoes.Fearing to risk their battleships in an engagement on the open sea, the enemy were using their small craft in the pirate work of sinking innocent merchantmen and fishing boats. They had seized the Belgian port of Zeebrugge, and were making this a base for submarines.It was surmised that they intended also to station a force of torpedo boats at Antwerp, in spite of the breach of Dutch neutrality which the use of the River Scheldt would imply. But to enter either seaport they had to run the gauntlet of our North Sea patrols, and on at least one occasion they met with complete disaster.A patrol of English trawlers was cruising off the Dutch coast, not far from the mouth of the Scheldt. Mark Redisham, on board theDainty, was enduring as best he could the dull monotony of his confined life on a small vessel pitching uncomfortably on a rough sea in a bitterly cold wind. He was walking the wet deck, his oilskins dripping with rain, when he saw smoke on the dim horizon to the north. It came from the funnels of four torpedo-boat destroyers.Mark watched them, and presently determined that they were Germans, making for the Scheldt."You'd best rap out a wireless message," said Skipper Snowling."I don't think there's any need," returned Mark. "Look what's coming along behind them!"He indicated a second cloud of smoke, much greater in volume than the first, and blacker. The Germans also had evidently seen it, for they had put on full steam, doing their best to escape. Whatever their pursuers might be, they were quickly lessening the distance that divided them from their prey. Mark watched the chase excitedly.The four enemy boats were small compared with British destroyers; but they were going at quite twenty-six knots speed. Each was armed with three quick-firing guns and two machine-guns, and carried a crew of sixty officers and men. They flashed past, paying no attention to the trawlers.Through the black oil smoke in the distance could now be distinguished a British light cruiser and four destroyers, rushing along like railway trains, with their high prows smothered in white spray. They were overhauling the Germans hand over hand."They can't escape! They can't escape!" cried the skipper.Apparently the fugitives realised this; for they turned abruptly to starboard and at once opened fire on their pursuers. The distance between was about four miles, and it was at this range that the British cruiser, and her consorts, extending themselves into line abreast formation, began their cannonade. The shells from the two opposing sides crossed in front of the patrol of trawlers, which stood by, witnessing the fierce combat.It lasted hardly more than an hour, a running fight in which everything depended upon marksmanship and in which the superiority of the British gunnery was from the first apparent.A few moments after the action began, the leading German boat was struck in a vital part. Clouds of wreckage and smoke filled the air about her as the British lyddite shells hit her and exploded, smashing the thin steel plating of her hull. When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left of her but a few survivors struggling in the waves.The remaining three vessels, still going at full speed, tried to dodge the shots, while their own guns were kept at work. The British destroyers had selected each her own target, and continued pounding away at it from a distance. Superior range and weight of guns soon proved their advantage. The second of the German boats was sunk, then the third, and finally the fourth; the Kaiser's Navy was poorer by the loss of four useful units.Promptly, when the first of them went down, the trawler patrol hastened to the spot to pick up survivors. From all four some few were rescued, to be taken to England as prisoners.Three officers and ten men had been saved by theDaintywhen the cruiser steamed near, stopped, and dropped one of her boats. As the boat came alongside, Mark Redisham glanced instinctively at the men's caps and was surprised to read the name H.M.S.Dauntless. He looked at the midshipman in the stern sheets. It was his brother Rodney."So that's your new ship?" said Mark when they had greeted each other. "She's a smart one. I hope there are not many casualties.""Hardly any to speak of," Rodney answered. "One officer and four men slightly wounded, that's all; and hardly a scratch on any one of the ships. We've wiped off an old score, anyhow. What we've just done will balance the loss of theAtreus.""Yes," interposed one of the German officers who had been listening very attentively. "But the balance is still considerably in favour of Germany. You are forgetting what ourEmdenhas done; you are forgetting how our Admiral von Spee annihilated a squadron of your Dreadnoughts, how one of our tiny submarines recently sent three of your best cruisers to the bottom. Did we not sink two more of your cruisers only last week? Have we not successfully bombarded your fortified coast towns——?"What more he would have said was left unspoken, for at that moment one of the bluejackets in the boat leapt from his seat and seized him by the throat with one strong hand, while he lifted the other to strike him."Stop that! Stop that!" cried Rodney Redisham in a voice of stern command.The seaman instantly let go his hold and stood back abashed."Beg pardon, sir," he said humbly, touching his cap; "but my brother Tom went down with theAtreus; my mother and sister were killed by a German shell in Haddisport, and I didn't reckon I was doin' no harm in goin' for the first German as have come within reach of my fist.""It is not English to strike a prisoner, however," the midshipman reminded him.For some reason which Mark Redisham did not understand, none of the prisoners were left on board theDainty. They were distributed among her three consorts, which followed the flotilla towards Harwich, leaving the commodore to return alone to Haddisport.Skipper Snowling took her northward along the Dutch coast before making a slant across the Silver Pit. He had not gone many miles when a German destroyer came in sight, bearing down towards him."Looks as if she was a straggler from that other lot," Snowling continued, and he altered his course to get nearer to a Norwegian steamer to the west of him.To his surprise and annoyance, the destroyer also altered course and gave chase. Snowling put on more steam, and, as a precaution, got his machine gun ready for action, with Mark Redisham at the breech. In their weeks of mine-sweeping work Mark had proved himself an excellent shot. He had seldom failed to explode a mine when firing at it.The German signalled to theDaintyto stop and haul down her flag, but the White Ensign remained proudly at the trawler's masthead and her engines never went so well.The destroyer opened fire and there was an immediate reply from the gun on the trawler's deck. Mark aimed with cool precision and made many direct hits in vital parts, while shots from the German fell thick around him.The two vessels blazed away at each other as hard as they could for about a quarter of an hour, no great damage being done on either side. But the destroyer, with her greater speed, was quickly overhauling the mine-sweeper, and at last the two came broadside to broadside."Look out, chaps!" cried Mark. "She's going to torpedo us!"All the hands wore their safety collars and lifebelts, and the boat was swung out ready over the quarter rail. The skipper was at the steering wheel."Keep cool all," commanded Snowling. "Let 'em know as we're Britons. Give her another peppering, Mark!"Mark and his assistants had already shown that they were better gun-layers than their enemies, and their next cannonade sent splinters flying from the destroyer's decks. Her wireless machinery and aerial was already wrecked. Her guns were silent for a while as she manoeuvred to discharge a torpedo.Suddenly Harry Snowling put his helm hard over, theDaintyswung round bow on, and she raced forward like a mad animal direct for the destroyer and crashed into her amidships, her powerful prow smashing like a battering-ram into the steel plates.The destroyer's bridge fell over, and the five officers and men who had stood upon it were flung headlong into the sea.The trawler's engines were reversed. She backed out of the gaping hole she had made and then stood still as if to take breath after her exertion. The German boat, badly damaged, but not injured below water, just turned round, and, without waiting to pick up any of her men in the sea, made off as fast as her condition would allow her in the direction in which she was originally going."And now," said Harry Snowling, when the survivors had been picked up and stowed safely below, "I reckon we may as well steer straight for home and get a coat of paint over them scratches on our bows."CHAPTER XXIV.THE MEETING ON THE CLIFF."Beautiful view from here," remarked the stranger, dropping the stub of his cigarette on the pavement of the esplanade. "I should say it must be sharming in der spring, ven der gorse vos all in bloom. It minds me of Scotland."He spoke very softly, with a slightly Scotch accent—or was it merely broken English? Mr. Croucher took it to be Scotch; but he was not very quick at recognising accent, and perhaps it was the reference to Scotland which gave him the idea."Yes," he agreed, "nice, pure air, too. It's what I call clean air.""But in ze vinter," the stranger resumed, "it is probable ze beople in dese houses get much more air than zey vant."Mr. Croucher turned with his back to the sea and contemplated the houses referred to. They had a new interest for him this morning. It was the first time he had seen them since the visit of the German raiders. The house directly opposite him was as seriously damaged as if an earthquake had shaken its foundations. The windows were smashed and boarded up, a large part of the roof had fallen in; the gable end was in ruin, and some of the bulging walls were shored up with beams of wood.The stranger also had turned and was regarding the wrecked dwelling curiously, with his watery, blue eyes blinking through gold-rimmed spectacles."You have had a fire here, it seems," he casually observed, standing slightly back so that Mr. Croucher should not look into his face and penetrate its disguise.It was a flabby, clean-shaven face, with a double chin which was partly hidden by the wide, turned-up collar of his heavy overcoat. He was a tall, robust man. At first sight of him Mr. Croucher had supposed him to be a naval officer in mufti."No," explained Mr. Croucher, "it wasn't a fire. All that devastation is the result of the bombardment the other morning. It was awful while it lasted. They started firing just opposite here," he pursued; glad to have a listener, and proceeded to give an ample account of the bombardment and its results, concluding with a reference to the sinking of submarine H29. "Her commander, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, lived in the very house we're now looking at," he added.From Green Croft the stranger transferred his attention to Sunnydene, a little farther towards the end of the cliff."That house wasn't touched," Mr. Croucher informed him. "They didn't aim at it. You see, it belongs to a German, the brother of one of the Kaiser's admirals, and of course they had instructions to do it no harm. I don't know what amount of truth there may be in it, but it's whispered in the town that German spies were busy along here on the night before the raid.""Indeed?" The stranger had taken out his cigarette-case and opened it. He took one for himself and politely held the case in invitation towards Mr. Croucher."Thank you, but I don't smoke," said Mr. Croucher, watching the other strike a light.Just for an instant, as the man turned to shield the flaming match from the wind, it occurred to Mr. Croucher that there was something not altogether unfamiliar in his face and figure. And surely it was not the first time that he had seen that same fat hand with its diamond ring, holding a flaming match and lighting a cigarette in that same way! But he dismissed the idea as impossible. No, this was a perfect stranger."Spies? But you amaze me!" the other exclaimed, dropping the dead match. "Have not all alien enemies been interned—as certainly they should be? Or are some of our own beople vorking for Germany?"This expression of concern for the Empire's safety gave Mr. Croucher confidence."No," he declared warmly. "They have not by any means all been interned. That very house along there—Sunnydene—has been a nest of plotting spies all along. Hilliger and that secretary of his—a fellow named Seligmann—had caused no end of mischief before Seligmann was arrested."A look of eager interest leapt into the stranger's face, which, however, he contrived to conceal from Mr. Croucher."So?" he said, controlling his excitement. "They arrested him, did they? Ven vos dat?""Two or three nights ago," Mr. Croucher innocently answered. "The night before the bombardment, it was. In the ordinary course of things, I suppose he would have been tried and hanged as a spy. He was imprisoned in Haddisport gaol; but the next morning, when the German battleships were bombarding the town, one of their shells struck the police-station, burying him in the ruins, and he was taken out dead.""Dear me!" exclaimed the stranger; and with surprising abruptness he saluted and went off, walking very quickly towards the end of the cliff, where he turned inland and disappeared among the bushes beyond Sunnydene.He had been gone only a few moments when Mark Redisham and Seth Newruck came along, with telescopes under their arms. They were on coast-watching duty."I wish you two Scouts had been here five minutes ago," said Mr. Croucher, as they drew near him. "There was a stranger in conversation with me very much interested in the bombardment. You might have been able to tell him more about it than I could—especially about the arrest of Seligmann.""I don't see what a stranger could want to know about Seligmann," said Mark. "What was he like? Was he English?""English? I suppose so; either English or Scotch. He spoke with a sort of accent. He was tall, fair, rather stout, and wore spectacles.""Are you sure he wasn't German?" questioned Seth. "Perhaps he was a spy—a friend of Seligmann's wanting to know what had become of him.""Nonsense," objected Mr. Croucher."He lighted a cigarette, didn't he?" said Mark, observing a dead match on the pavement."How do you know it wasn't a pipe or a cigar?" asked Mr. Croucher sharply. He was always being tripped up by these Sea Scouts, who seemed to know things by an extraordinary instinct."Because there's the fag end of a cigarette lying at your feet, with some ash beside it that the wind hasn't yet blown away," Mark Redisham quietly answered.He had the curiosity to pick up and examine the fragment before handing it to his companion."What do you make of it, Seth?" he inquired meaningly."Crumbs!" cried Seth. "Why, it's the same brand as those we found in the silver cigarette-case—marked 'Vafiadi, Cairo'! I wonder if the stranger was Herr Hilliger?""That's just what I was wondering, too," nodded Mark. "It's possible."Mr. Croucher stared at the two Scouts indignantly."Do you suppose I shouldn't have known him?" he demanded. "Herr Hilliger wears a beard and has long hair. This man was clean-shaven, and his hair was quite short. Besides——""It wouldn't be impossible to shave off a beard and get a short crop," declared Mark. "Which way did he go?"Mr. Croucher indicated the direction. The two Scouts went off hurriedly. Mark led the way across the warren to the Alderwick road and the little cross lane."It was just here that we captured Seligmann," he explained.They searched the ground and discovered in the soft mud the newly impressed marks of the tyres of a motor-car and of a man's boots.It was useless, of course, for them to attempt to track the car. Had they been able to do so, the trail would have led them many miles away, through village after village and town after town, northward along the coast. They might have run the car to earth at last on a desolate stretch of moorland where it had halted. Thence they might have followed Heinrich Hilliger's tracks to a pile of ruins—the ruins of an old-world castle—on the edge of a steep precipice overlooking the sea.At the foot of the precipice was a tiny bay of deep, clear water, fringed with rocks. Between two of the rocks a small boat was drawn up on the shingle—a curious, collapsible boat made of water-tight canvas stretched on a steel frame. A pair of sculls lay across the thwarts. Nobody was in charge of it.Heinrich Hilliger looked down into the depths and saw the boat as he passed along the edge of the cliff and made his way through the heather to the ruin. He gave a long, low whistle and a whistle came back to him in response."You have managed it, then!" cried a young voice; and from beyond a corner of the grey stone wall his son Max ran out, dressed in the uniform of a German naval officer.The father and son embraced. Then Max laughed, looking at his father in amusement."It's as well you gave me the signal," he said, speaking in German. "I should hardly have known you without your beard. Well, you have been to Haddisport? What news of Fritz?""The worst news," answered Herr Hilliger. "He was caught. He was taken to prison. More than that, when we bombarded the town, one of our shells struck the prison-house and poor Fritz was killed! It seems like fate.""Killed! By our own guns! Father, are you sure?""Absolutely. It is in the newspapers, and I have had confirmation of it from Old Croucher, whom I met outside Sunnydene. He did not recognise me; but he saved me the risk of showing myself in the town."Max clenched and unclenched his hands."This is what comes of the silly, useless notion of bombarding open towns!" he declared. "What good has it done, to knock a few shops and hotels to pieces, to smash the windows of a few seaside villas, and to take the lives of a lot of innocent women and children? There was no military advantage in it! You have not even frightened the English people. They are only laughing at us for using our battleships to fire their shells into unfortified places instead of going out boldly to face the enemy in a fair and open fight!""You forget, my son," returned Herr Hilliger, "we sank a British submarine; we sowed many hundreds of explosive mines. There was some good in that, eh?""Not that I see," retorted Max. "The commander of that submarine was once my friend. He has dined at your own table. And from what I understand, the English mine-sweepers exploded all the mines before the day was out. I don't agree with sowing explosive mines on the high seas. It's not playing the game.""Bah! Don't talk to me about playing the game, my dear Max. It is not a game; it is war. If we mean to beat the English we must not be hampered by any childish ideas of fair play. As for the killing of Fritz, it is of course unfortunate; but it could not have been foreseen. We must get some one to take his place, yourself, perhaps.""No." Max shook his head resolutely. "I am not a spy. I shall do nothing underhand. Let us fight fairly and openly, not hit below the belt. I have my duties on the submarine, and I don't want to set foot in England until the war is over. I should not be here now, but that I have come to take you away—to give you a passage back to Wilhelmshaven. Are you ready? The submarine is lying submerged in the next bay, waiting for my signal.""My dear Max," returned Hilliger, "I cannot go back with you. My place is here, in England, where I have been stationed. Since Fritz is dead, it is all the more important that I remain on this side. Our Zeppelins are preparing to come over, only waiting until I shall send a message to say that the wind and weather are suitable. When the time is favourable I must be on the spot with a car to guide them by its light to the places where they shall drop their bombs."Max curled his lip contemptuously."And you call that war, I suppose," he sneered—"dropping fire-bombs on farmhouses and in kitchen-gardens! I could see some sense in it if we aimed at their aeroplane sheds, their dockyards, or their ammunition factories, or if we sank some of their Dreadnoughts and troopships. Why, if every house and inhabitant of Haddisport were destroyed, it wouldn't make a pin's difference in the progress of the war."Herr Hilliger shrugged his shoulders and turned the subject by saying:"I see, my dear Max, that you are wearing the Iron Cross. I congratulate you. I am proud. No doubt it is a reward for sinking those three British cruisers?"Max nodded. "We shall sink others, too," he averred. "I shall not be satisfied until we have put a torpedo into one of their great battleships—one of their boasted Dreadnoughts."He strode to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the water. The submarine was emptying her ballast tanks and was already in the awash condition. He moved his arms, signalling by semaphore to Lieutenant Körner standing on the conning-tower platform. Then, again embracing his father, he climbed down the difficult slope of the cliff to the collapsible boat, stepped into it, and pulled out to the submarine.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE RAIDERS.
Whether Seligmann's wireless messages had anything to do with the matter or not can only be conjectured. But it is true that at earliest dawn on that same misty, November morning the fishermen of the Haddisport herring fleet, at work with their drift nets south of the Dogger Bank, were surprised by the sudden appearance in their midst of a squadron of eight grey-hulled Dreadnoughts and cruisers, bearing due westward at breakneck speed.
Looming out of the mist, they tore onward through the nets, regardless of the damage they caused. They showed no lights, even from their cabin portholes; they flew no flags.
One of the skippers, watching them, was so sure that they were British battleships that he waved his morning teapot at them in greeting; but some of the Englishmen shook their heads in doubt. There were peculiarities in the structure of the ships which were not familiar.
They passed so close to theMignonettethat Sam Quester, perched on the roof of the cuddy scuttle, saw the faces of the officers on bridge and quarterdeck, and was able afterwards to assert that he was almost sure one of the officers on the leading Dreadnought was Max Hilliger's father.
By the time they had passed out of sight into the mist the fishermen had come to the correct conclusion that the squadron was a part of the German High Sea Fleet. But what was their purpose? Where were they going at such a headlong rate? And where in the meantime was the British Fleet?
Twenty miles farther to the westward the Germans were again seen, flying the White Ensign, this time by a patrol of English mine-sweepers, which immediately sent out a wireless message of warning. The enemy flagship tried to jam the message. Nevertheless it was picked up by His Majesty's torpedo gunboatKingfisher, lying at anchor in Buremouth Roads. TheKingfishersent the warning onward, to be repeated and repeated north and south about the sea.
How did it happen that the Germans knew so well that on this particular morning they were in no danger of being intercepted by British cruisers? Had this been the secret of Fritz Seligmann's activity that night?
The wireless message from theKingfisherreached the naval bases of Buremouth and Haddisport. Off Buremouth two destroyers were at anchor. They at once got up steam and pushed out in the wake of the gunboat. At Haddisport there was a submarine—the H29. She was ordered to follow. But where was her commander, Lieutenant Ingoldsby?
By the merest chance, Mark Redisham heard the question asked. He had come to the naval base to report the arrest of Fritz Seligmann, using Seligmann's car, which he had left at the pier-head. Constable Challis had told him that Lieutenant Ingoldsby had gone with Mrs. Daplin-Gennery to Floxley Hall, outside Buremouth.
Mark gave the information to Mr. Bilverstone, who telephoned to Green Croft and got a prompt answer. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery had just returned; but had left her nephew at the bedside of his wounded friend.
"All right, sir," said Mark, "I'll go and fetch him."
It was a journey of nineteen miles there and back, but Seligmann's car was a powerful one, well supplied with petrol, and Mark Redisham was an expert and cautious driver. He posted off to Floxley Hall at top speed.
Meanwhile, the enemy Dreadnoughts and cruisers were still being watched from the decks of the patrolling trawlers. They were racing towards the English coast, their tall funnels belching black clouds of smoke, their officers and men all at their fighting quarters, their heavy guns loaded, their torpedo-tubes charged.
"They look as if they was skelterin' away from an enemy," observed one of the English skippers. "But hold hard! They'll go slap into our mine-field, sure's a gun, the course they're makin'. Taren't possible they can hit the open lane."
A field of defensive contact mines had been laid for the protection of the coast, with secret gaps or passages which were supposed to be known only to naval men and responsible pilots. It was clear, however, that the Germans were well aware, not only of the exact locality of the mined area, but also of the open lanes through which they might pass in safety, for without slackening speed the ships rushed through in an unbroken procession, never swerving until they came within sight of the Alderwick lightship.
Here they separated into two divisions, the one steering direct for Buremouth, the other for Haddisport.
TheKingfisher, steaming out to inquire into the truth of the wireless message she had received, made her presence known by flashing her searchlight through the gloom of the early morning mist. The enemy flagship, bearing west-by-south, instead of answering the signal, opened fire upon the British gunboat, at the same time showing the German flag in place of the White Ensign.
Confronted by so formidable an antagonist, the littleKingfisher, with her smaller four-inch guns, could not attempt to engage. She fired seven shots, which all dropped short, while shells were falling all round her. One struck her foremast and smashed her aerials, another exploded under her bridge, fatally injuring a seaman at her steering-wheel and cutting the compass in half.
The two destroyers raced up to her help, making as much smoke as possible to hide her. All three, hopelessly outranged, could only steam about in a zig-zag course at their fullest speed and at length take refuge in the mist.
The battleships did not follow in pursuit. It was not their intention to enter into a sea fight, if one could be avoided. Theirs was the sinister purpose of bombarding defenceless towns and spreading "frightfulness" amongst unoffending civilians.
While one division of the squadron branched off to pour their devastating shells into the houses of Buremouth, the other steamed abreast of Alderwick Shoal, and from the security of the deep water sent salvo after salvo into the buildings of Haddisport.
From the bridge of the flagship Heinrich Hilliger bent his binoculars upon his own house to seek for a signal which he failed to discover, or, rather, which was never displayed, his faithful secretary being at the time securely confined within the narrow walls of a prisoner's cell in Haddisport police-station.
Not finding the expected signal, Herr Hilliger transferred his attention to the business in hand, indicating the particular houses and buildings at which he desired the gunlayers to take especial aim: first, Green Croft, associated in his mind with the mischievous submarine commander, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, whose torpedoes had robbed the Kaiser's High Sea Fleet of at least two important ships; and then in turn the lighthouse, the parish church, the town hall, the chief hotels, the harbour, and finally the naval base, with its wireless station and battery of guns.
Mark Redisham and Lieutenant Ingoldsby, tearing in their motor-car along the deserted highroad, had heard the booming of heavy guns out at sea. The alarming sounds drew nearer and nearer, from two directions.
"They're bombarding Buremouth as well as Haddisport, sir," Mark declared, leaning forward to increase his speed.
"Faster! faster!" cried Ingoldsby. "Give her all she can do. Let her rip. But keep your head—keep cool—keep a sharp look-out!"
Mark had no need to be urged or cautioned. He had perfect control of the machine; he knew every turn and curve, every dip and rise of the road. The telegraph poles flashed by as if they had been park railings set side by side, and there was no traffic to interfere with his onward, headlong pace.
As they left Alderwick village behind, and dashed along the open highway across the moorland, the first shell from the German battleships shrieked over their heads; a second crashed into one of the houses on the esplanade; another laid the lighthouse in ruins.
In the town shells were falling thick and fast, exploding with deafening noise. In the market-place a big hotel was on fire, and the car was checked by a crowd of excited people; but Mark made his way through, sounding his hooter, and arrived without hurt at the harbour, where the submarine was waiting ready for her commander to jump aboard.
The bombardment lasted some thirty minutes. The ships, dimly visible through the mist and smoke, steamed southward abreast of the town, firing their eleven-inch shells from starboard. Then they returned and repeated the manoeuvre, firing from their port sides and ending where they had begun. It was not safe for them to continue any longer, since every moment added to the danger of their retreat being cut off by a squadron of British Dreadnoughts racing towards them in response to urgent wireless messages.
Favoured by the fog, they took to flight, the battleships leading in order to give the smaller cruisers in the rear the opportunity of dropping some hundreds of explosive mines in their wake.
Already submarine H29, with Lieutenant Ingoldsby at his post in the conning-tower, had entered into pursuit, making for the gap in the British mine-field through which alone the enemy ships could pass. But he had not counted on their hasty retreat or calculated the speed of their flight.
As they crossed in advance of him, not seeing his periscope, he fired his two bow torpedoes, and missed. He got astern of them and fired two more. But just as the missiles left their tubes there was an ominous crash and a fierce explosion.
The submarine had run up against one of the Germans' floating mines, which broke her like an egg, and the H29 and all who were in her sank to their last resting-place at the bottom of the North Sea.
CHAPTER XXII.
CUT AND RUN.
Seth Newruck, who lived at the north end of the town, had been to Alderwick Hall to take certain reports and accounts to the Scout Commissioner, and was returning across the fields when he heard the firing of naval guns from somewhere out at sea.
He had previously seen the gunboat leave her anchorage, and he believed at first that her gunners were practising, or that perhaps some of the patrolling trawlers were exploding floating mines. He was not alarmed.
But very soon the loud, insistent booming convinced him that the guns were heavier than those of theKingfisher, and that some sort of naval engagement was going on out there beyond the curtain of sea mist.
He began to run. Coming out upon the highway, he crossed the warren to the edge of the cliff and stood looking out to sea. He could see the flashes of the guns, flickering through the fog like summer lightning.
If ships were firing upon theKingfisher, then assuredly they were enemies—a squadron of the German Fleet! Perhaps they were even engaged with a division of our British Dreadnoughts! The thought thrilled him in all his nerves.
After a while there was a lull. Seth went on, beyond the ravine, beyond Sunnydene. When he got close to the front gate of Green Croft, and again looked searchingly outward, he distinguished the shadowy forms of three great battleships, led by two light cruisers. They were steaming southward, with their broadsides towards the land.
Suddenly, from the foremost battleship, there came a flash. She was hidden in a cloud of smoke. He heard a shrill shriek, and saw a high fountain of spray rise from the deep water inside Alderwick Shoal, where a shot had fallen. At the same moment there was a terrible, ear-splitting, earth-shaking boom.
Seth trembled from head to foot; less with fear than with boyish excitement. Was it possible that he was, after all, going to witness at first hand some actual incident of the great war? His heart was beating furiously against his ribs; he went hot and cold by turns. He knew that he stood in danger. The next shot might come farther than the sea!
"I wonder if I'm afraid?" he asked himself.
Then he thought of the people in the houses near him, and of his duty as a Scout. If the danger should come nearer, how could he give help? He remembered the refuge trench which he had helped to dig in Mrs. Daplin-Gennery's garden. Now most surely was a time for it to be used!
He ran in at the gateway and up the gravelled drive. The window blinds were down, the front door was shut. He went round to the back entrance and was about to hammer at the kitchen door when it was flung open.
Mrs. Daplin-Gennery stood in the passage, wearing a blue dressing-gown. Her long, black hair hung loose over her shoulders, making her face look very white. Her arms were bare, and he saw that she held a revolver in her right hand. Behind her were other women—her lady's maid, the Irish cook, the parlourmaid, and two others.
Seth Newruck raised his hand in the Scouts' salute.
"You'd better all get into the trench, ma'am," he advised. "There's a lot of German warships out there beyond the sandbank."
Even as he spoke there came the loud, whistling rush of a shell overhead and a terrific explosion rent the air as the thing fell somewhere in the fields beyond. The servants screamed. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery alone was calm.
"Are there troopships and Zeppelins with them?" she questioned. "Are they going to land? Is it an invasion?"
"No." Seth shook his head. "I don't think so. But, anyhow, you'd better take shelter in the dug-out."
Mrs. Daplin-Gennery stood aside, thrusting the others in advance of her. They had more than once rehearsed this scene. One by one they obediently and very quickly rushed forward and disappeared into the sap trench. Their mistress followed, but hesitated half-way down the sunken ladder.
"You must come, too," she called to Seth. "There is plenty of room."
Seth drew back a step and turned as if to leave.
"As soon as you're all safe in the dug-out," he responded quietly, "I'm going to run home, to look after my mother and sisters. Father's out with the Fleet."
There was another loud boom of a gun; but this time it came from the direction of Buremouth.
"Quick! Come into the trench!" urged Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, now at the foot of the ladder and out of sight. "You'll get killed if you don't. And if they land troops—if it's an invasion—you must stay and defend us helpless women. You're the only male person here. Besides, you're a Scout; you know what to do if any of us are wounded."
This argument presented a new aspect of the situation. Seth descended the ladder, and as he turned into the darkness of the sap trench the pistol was thrust into his hand.
"If a German shows his face, shoot him!" he was ordered.
"They won't land, ma'am," he declared with confidence, following along the covered way to the refuge of the sunken bicycle shed under its protecting mound of sandbags and earth. "They couldn't land through shoal water."
His further assurances were cut short by a deafening explosion. The earth shook, there was a prolonged roar and clatter of tumbling masonry, mingled with the splitting of timber and the crashing of glass.
"Wirra-wirra!" cried the Irish cook. "It's the house they've struck, and we'll all be kilt entirely!"
A shower of loose sand, dislodged by the concussion, fell through the cracks in the roof of the shelter, the support timbers creaked ominously. Then suddenly all was silent except for the cries of the frightened kitchenmaid.
Seth ran back along the covered way and found the entrance blocked by a confusion of fallen bricks and garden soil. But there was a second exit which admitted light and air to the refuge, with a second ladder. Up this ladder he climbed and thrust out his head above ground to see what damage had been done and discover if the house were on fire.
His nostrils were assailed by the pungent fumes from the exploded eleven-inch shell. Clouds of drifting smoke and dust obscured his view; but as they cleared he saw that the gable end of the house had fallen, carrying with it a chimney-stack and some of the wrecked furniture of an upper room. The windows were all smashed. The shell seemed to have burst somewhere between the adjoining stables and the conservatory, both of which were a mass of ruins.
"It's a good thing nobody is hurt," he said, returning to report on what he had seen. "You're quite safe now. I don't suppose a second shot will be aimed at the same place."
There was another fierce explosion, very near. Again and again the guns boomed out their thunder. The sounds of bursting shells came clear and sharp, repeated again and again as the bombardment of the town was continued.
"I can't be of any more use here," said Seth, returning the revolver to Mrs. Daplin-Gennery. "When the firing stops, you can get out all right. I must go now. I believe Major Redisham's house has been struck. They're firing their broadsides right into the heart of the town now! Listen!"
He was back at the ladder; but the lady's maid held him.
"Don't leave us!" she implored agitatedly. "It's not all over yet. Stay where you are."
He yielded to her entreaties. The enemy ships had gone about and were returning abreast of the town, firing salvos as they passed, steaming very quickly. They must already have got some inkling or suspicion that a squadron of British cruisers was coming down in hot haste from the northward, for abruptly they ceased firing and turned outward, disappearing into the mist. They had run risks out of all proportion to the gain of such a cowardly raid.
Straight across from Wilhelmshaven they had made their bold dash for the English coast to bombard a couple of undefended towns which they might attack without venturing too far south or too far north, or lingering too long. If they stayed no more than one brief hour in English waters and then fled for very life, they had reason. Quick of heel and heavy of hand as they were, they owed their escape wholly to the fog which shielded them.
Coming out from the trench, Seth Newruck ran through the front garden to the edge of the cliff and saw theKingfisherreturning to port with her topmast broken and her bridge badly battered.
He turned in at Major Redisham's gate, hoping to find Mark. The house had not been touched by the shell fire. Mrs. Redisham and her two daughters and servants had taken refuge in their dug-out. They were excited, but not frightened. Their chief anxiety was about Mark, who had gone out after supper on the previous night and not come back.
Seth offered to make inquiries concerning him, saying he was sure to be all right somewhere, and ran off again.
At the top of the town he encountered Mark in a strange motor-car. Mark pulled up at sight of him.
"Do you know if my people are safe?" he asked.
"Yes. I've just seen them," Seth answered. "They're only worried a bit to know where you've been all night. Whose car have you got?"
"I'm not quite sure," Mark laughed. "I suppose it may be considered a prize of war. We captured it last night, Challis and I, along with the German spy who was using it. Jump in! There's no real need for me to go home, now that I know they're safe. I will telephone to them from the post-office. It's pretty awful down there. Ever so many people have been killed and injured. Mr. Bilverstone has got a whole troop of nurses and stretcher-bearers at work. Come along, we can help."
Seth jumped up beside him. They drove past the lighthouse, where a shell had struck and exploded, doing considerable damage, then turned aside to ascertain that Seth's mother and sisters were safe.
Some dwelling-houses near the Town Hall had been wrecked. Windows were smashed everywhere; an hotel in the market-place was in ruins.
Mark made room for two women and three children who were seriously injured, and conveyed them to the hospital; then he went about the town, using the car for ambulance work and giving first-aid where he could.
The hospital staff, the doctors, with the police, the local Scouts, and many other willing helpers were kept busy. Over thirty persons had been killed, more than a hundred were severely injured. The damage to property could not easily be measured, but the most serious destruction was in the crowded quarters of the old town where the fishermen lived. In the course of his work of taking the injured to the hospital, Mark Redisham called at the police-station. A side of the building had been shattered by one of the German shells. The wall and a part of the roof had fallen in, burying a warder and two prisoners in the ruins. Men were engaged in clearing away the debris of bricks and tiles and heavy wooden joists. They had rescued the warder and one of the prisoners, only slightly hurt.
Mark waited until the third victim should be found. A heavy beam of timber had to be lifted. It was moved at last, and Mark saw what was beneath it.
"It's the German spy!" he cried. "It's Fritz Seligmann. He's dead—quite dead!—killed by his own friends!"
CHAPTER XXIII.
STRIKING THE BALANCE.
In their hurried flight from Haddisport and Buremouth, the raiding Germans had made a novel and unexpected departure from the recognised methods of warfare. By dropping floating mines in their wake, they showed that their battleships may be more dangerous in retreat than when advancing.
Retreat is not an inspiring proceeding; it depresses the spirits of officers and men, and this would be very evident in the case of the German seamen who had so long boasted of the great things they would accomplish when a naval war came. But if when their ships were in flight the crews knew that they were laying snares to trip up their pursuers their retreat would be robbed of its depressing effects. Any British vessels of war venturing to follow on their heels would inevitably be destroyed.
They were not yet hidden in the fog when Lieutenant Ingoldsby's submarine, manoeuvring to torpedo them, ran up against one of their mines and was instantly sunk, with the loss of her gallant commander and every one of his crew. Hardly had the H29 disappeared when two of the patrolling trawlers, steaming up to her rescue, were also sent to the bottom.
The German light cruisers must have been fitted for this purpose of mine sowing. When the battleships were advancing, these smaller, high-speed scouts would act as a screen, and in retreat they would keep astern of the big ships, dropping a trail of small mines overboard as they fled.
The sacrifice of the H29 and the two trawlers was a serious disaster; but at the same time it taught our Navy a valuable lesson in tactics. Never again would any British warship pursuing a German follow directly in the wake, but always on a parallel course.
It was the woundedKingfisherwhich brought into Haddisport the news that a new mine-field had been sown. A fleet of mine-sweepers, led by the gunboatStormcock, was at once sent out. It included theDainty, with Mark Redisham on board, and throughout the rest of that exciting day the people on shore were startled by repeated loud detonations as the floating mines were one after another exploded by gunfire from the trawler's decks.
TheDaintyand three of her consorts remained at sea for a week, doing patrol duty—cruising between the English coasts and the Bight of Heligoland in search of enemy ships or ships carrying contraband of war. They were now armed with machine-guns and could defend themselves in emergency.
At this time the chief interests of the war were centred upon the commerce destroyers on the outer seas and the military operations in France and Flanders. The Germans were making their great effort to force a way through to Calais. Their navy was hemmed in by the watchful British Fleet, and for a long time after the bombardment of Haddisport the North Sea was clear of their ships. There was no target for British naval guns.
Some few of their destroyers and submarines, it is true, contrived to steal out from the protection of their fortified harbours, and two British cruisers—theHawkeand theHermes—were sunk by their torpedoes.
Fearing to risk their battleships in an engagement on the open sea, the enemy were using their small craft in the pirate work of sinking innocent merchantmen and fishing boats. They had seized the Belgian port of Zeebrugge, and were making this a base for submarines.
It was surmised that they intended also to station a force of torpedo boats at Antwerp, in spite of the breach of Dutch neutrality which the use of the River Scheldt would imply. But to enter either seaport they had to run the gauntlet of our North Sea patrols, and on at least one occasion they met with complete disaster.
A patrol of English trawlers was cruising off the Dutch coast, not far from the mouth of the Scheldt. Mark Redisham, on board theDainty, was enduring as best he could the dull monotony of his confined life on a small vessel pitching uncomfortably on a rough sea in a bitterly cold wind. He was walking the wet deck, his oilskins dripping with rain, when he saw smoke on the dim horizon to the north. It came from the funnels of four torpedo-boat destroyers.
Mark watched them, and presently determined that they were Germans, making for the Scheldt.
"You'd best rap out a wireless message," said Skipper Snowling.
"I don't think there's any need," returned Mark. "Look what's coming along behind them!"
He indicated a second cloud of smoke, much greater in volume than the first, and blacker. The Germans also had evidently seen it, for they had put on full steam, doing their best to escape. Whatever their pursuers might be, they were quickly lessening the distance that divided them from their prey. Mark watched the chase excitedly.
The four enemy boats were small compared with British destroyers; but they were going at quite twenty-six knots speed. Each was armed with three quick-firing guns and two machine-guns, and carried a crew of sixty officers and men. They flashed past, paying no attention to the trawlers.
Through the black oil smoke in the distance could now be distinguished a British light cruiser and four destroyers, rushing along like railway trains, with their high prows smothered in white spray. They were overhauling the Germans hand over hand.
"They can't escape! They can't escape!" cried the skipper.
Apparently the fugitives realised this; for they turned abruptly to starboard and at once opened fire on their pursuers. The distance between was about four miles, and it was at this range that the British cruiser, and her consorts, extending themselves into line abreast formation, began their cannonade. The shells from the two opposing sides crossed in front of the patrol of trawlers, which stood by, witnessing the fierce combat.
It lasted hardly more than an hour, a running fight in which everything depended upon marksmanship and in which the superiority of the British gunnery was from the first apparent.
A few moments after the action began, the leading German boat was struck in a vital part. Clouds of wreckage and smoke filled the air about her as the British lyddite shells hit her and exploded, smashing the thin steel plating of her hull. When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left of her but a few survivors struggling in the waves.
The remaining three vessels, still going at full speed, tried to dodge the shots, while their own guns were kept at work. The British destroyers had selected each her own target, and continued pounding away at it from a distance. Superior range and weight of guns soon proved their advantage. The second of the German boats was sunk, then the third, and finally the fourth; the Kaiser's Navy was poorer by the loss of four useful units.
Promptly, when the first of them went down, the trawler patrol hastened to the spot to pick up survivors. From all four some few were rescued, to be taken to England as prisoners.
Three officers and ten men had been saved by theDaintywhen the cruiser steamed near, stopped, and dropped one of her boats. As the boat came alongside, Mark Redisham glanced instinctively at the men's caps and was surprised to read the name H.M.S.Dauntless. He looked at the midshipman in the stern sheets. It was his brother Rodney.
"So that's your new ship?" said Mark when they had greeted each other. "She's a smart one. I hope there are not many casualties."
"Hardly any to speak of," Rodney answered. "One officer and four men slightly wounded, that's all; and hardly a scratch on any one of the ships. We've wiped off an old score, anyhow. What we've just done will balance the loss of theAtreus."
"Yes," interposed one of the German officers who had been listening very attentively. "But the balance is still considerably in favour of Germany. You are forgetting what ourEmdenhas done; you are forgetting how our Admiral von Spee annihilated a squadron of your Dreadnoughts, how one of our tiny submarines recently sent three of your best cruisers to the bottom. Did we not sink two more of your cruisers only last week? Have we not successfully bombarded your fortified coast towns——?"
What more he would have said was left unspoken, for at that moment one of the bluejackets in the boat leapt from his seat and seized him by the throat with one strong hand, while he lifted the other to strike him.
"Stop that! Stop that!" cried Rodney Redisham in a voice of stern command.
The seaman instantly let go his hold and stood back abashed.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said humbly, touching his cap; "but my brother Tom went down with theAtreus; my mother and sister were killed by a German shell in Haddisport, and I didn't reckon I was doin' no harm in goin' for the first German as have come within reach of my fist."
"It is not English to strike a prisoner, however," the midshipman reminded him.
For some reason which Mark Redisham did not understand, none of the prisoners were left on board theDainty. They were distributed among her three consorts, which followed the flotilla towards Harwich, leaving the commodore to return alone to Haddisport.
Skipper Snowling took her northward along the Dutch coast before making a slant across the Silver Pit. He had not gone many miles when a German destroyer came in sight, bearing down towards him.
"Looks as if she was a straggler from that other lot," Snowling continued, and he altered his course to get nearer to a Norwegian steamer to the west of him.
To his surprise and annoyance, the destroyer also altered course and gave chase. Snowling put on more steam, and, as a precaution, got his machine gun ready for action, with Mark Redisham at the breech. In their weeks of mine-sweeping work Mark had proved himself an excellent shot. He had seldom failed to explode a mine when firing at it.
The German signalled to theDaintyto stop and haul down her flag, but the White Ensign remained proudly at the trawler's masthead and her engines never went so well.
The destroyer opened fire and there was an immediate reply from the gun on the trawler's deck. Mark aimed with cool precision and made many direct hits in vital parts, while shots from the German fell thick around him.
The two vessels blazed away at each other as hard as they could for about a quarter of an hour, no great damage being done on either side. But the destroyer, with her greater speed, was quickly overhauling the mine-sweeper, and at last the two came broadside to broadside.
"Look out, chaps!" cried Mark. "She's going to torpedo us!"
All the hands wore their safety collars and lifebelts, and the boat was swung out ready over the quarter rail. The skipper was at the steering wheel.
"Keep cool all," commanded Snowling. "Let 'em know as we're Britons. Give her another peppering, Mark!"
Mark and his assistants had already shown that they were better gun-layers than their enemies, and their next cannonade sent splinters flying from the destroyer's decks. Her wireless machinery and aerial was already wrecked. Her guns were silent for a while as she manoeuvred to discharge a torpedo.
Suddenly Harry Snowling put his helm hard over, theDaintyswung round bow on, and she raced forward like a mad animal direct for the destroyer and crashed into her amidships, her powerful prow smashing like a battering-ram into the steel plates.
The destroyer's bridge fell over, and the five officers and men who had stood upon it were flung headlong into the sea.
The trawler's engines were reversed. She backed out of the gaping hole she had made and then stood still as if to take breath after her exertion. The German boat, badly damaged, but not injured below water, just turned round, and, without waiting to pick up any of her men in the sea, made off as fast as her condition would allow her in the direction in which she was originally going.
"And now," said Harry Snowling, when the survivors had been picked up and stowed safely below, "I reckon we may as well steer straight for home and get a coat of paint over them scratches on our bows."
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE MEETING ON THE CLIFF.
"Beautiful view from here," remarked the stranger, dropping the stub of his cigarette on the pavement of the esplanade. "I should say it must be sharming in der spring, ven der gorse vos all in bloom. It minds me of Scotland."
He spoke very softly, with a slightly Scotch accent—or was it merely broken English? Mr. Croucher took it to be Scotch; but he was not very quick at recognising accent, and perhaps it was the reference to Scotland which gave him the idea.
"Yes," he agreed, "nice, pure air, too. It's what I call clean air."
"But in ze vinter," the stranger resumed, "it is probable ze beople in dese houses get much more air than zey vant."
Mr. Croucher turned with his back to the sea and contemplated the houses referred to. They had a new interest for him this morning. It was the first time he had seen them since the visit of the German raiders. The house directly opposite him was as seriously damaged as if an earthquake had shaken its foundations. The windows were smashed and boarded up, a large part of the roof had fallen in; the gable end was in ruin, and some of the bulging walls were shored up with beams of wood.
The stranger also had turned and was regarding the wrecked dwelling curiously, with his watery, blue eyes blinking through gold-rimmed spectacles.
"You have had a fire here, it seems," he casually observed, standing slightly back so that Mr. Croucher should not look into his face and penetrate its disguise.
It was a flabby, clean-shaven face, with a double chin which was partly hidden by the wide, turned-up collar of his heavy overcoat. He was a tall, robust man. At first sight of him Mr. Croucher had supposed him to be a naval officer in mufti.
"No," explained Mr. Croucher, "it wasn't a fire. All that devastation is the result of the bombardment the other morning. It was awful while it lasted. They started firing just opposite here," he pursued; glad to have a listener, and proceeded to give an ample account of the bombardment and its results, concluding with a reference to the sinking of submarine H29. "Her commander, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, lived in the very house we're now looking at," he added.
From Green Croft the stranger transferred his attention to Sunnydene, a little farther towards the end of the cliff.
"That house wasn't touched," Mr. Croucher informed him. "They didn't aim at it. You see, it belongs to a German, the brother of one of the Kaiser's admirals, and of course they had instructions to do it no harm. I don't know what amount of truth there may be in it, but it's whispered in the town that German spies were busy along here on the night before the raid."
"Indeed?" The stranger had taken out his cigarette-case and opened it. He took one for himself and politely held the case in invitation towards Mr. Croucher.
"Thank you, but I don't smoke," said Mr. Croucher, watching the other strike a light.
Just for an instant, as the man turned to shield the flaming match from the wind, it occurred to Mr. Croucher that there was something not altogether unfamiliar in his face and figure. And surely it was not the first time that he had seen that same fat hand with its diamond ring, holding a flaming match and lighting a cigarette in that same way! But he dismissed the idea as impossible. No, this was a perfect stranger.
"Spies? But you amaze me!" the other exclaimed, dropping the dead match. "Have not all alien enemies been interned—as certainly they should be? Or are some of our own beople vorking for Germany?"
This expression of concern for the Empire's safety gave Mr. Croucher confidence.
"No," he declared warmly. "They have not by any means all been interned. That very house along there—Sunnydene—has been a nest of plotting spies all along. Hilliger and that secretary of his—a fellow named Seligmann—had caused no end of mischief before Seligmann was arrested."
A look of eager interest leapt into the stranger's face, which, however, he contrived to conceal from Mr. Croucher.
"So?" he said, controlling his excitement. "They arrested him, did they? Ven vos dat?"
"Two or three nights ago," Mr. Croucher innocently answered. "The night before the bombardment, it was. In the ordinary course of things, I suppose he would have been tried and hanged as a spy. He was imprisoned in Haddisport gaol; but the next morning, when the German battleships were bombarding the town, one of their shells struck the police-station, burying him in the ruins, and he was taken out dead."
"Dear me!" exclaimed the stranger; and with surprising abruptness he saluted and went off, walking very quickly towards the end of the cliff, where he turned inland and disappeared among the bushes beyond Sunnydene.
He had been gone only a few moments when Mark Redisham and Seth Newruck came along, with telescopes under their arms. They were on coast-watching duty.
"I wish you two Scouts had been here five minutes ago," said Mr. Croucher, as they drew near him. "There was a stranger in conversation with me very much interested in the bombardment. You might have been able to tell him more about it than I could—especially about the arrest of Seligmann."
"I don't see what a stranger could want to know about Seligmann," said Mark. "What was he like? Was he English?"
"English? I suppose so; either English or Scotch. He spoke with a sort of accent. He was tall, fair, rather stout, and wore spectacles."
"Are you sure he wasn't German?" questioned Seth. "Perhaps he was a spy—a friend of Seligmann's wanting to know what had become of him."
"Nonsense," objected Mr. Croucher.
"He lighted a cigarette, didn't he?" said Mark, observing a dead match on the pavement.
"How do you know it wasn't a pipe or a cigar?" asked Mr. Croucher sharply. He was always being tripped up by these Sea Scouts, who seemed to know things by an extraordinary instinct.
"Because there's the fag end of a cigarette lying at your feet, with some ash beside it that the wind hasn't yet blown away," Mark Redisham quietly answered.
He had the curiosity to pick up and examine the fragment before handing it to his companion.
"What do you make of it, Seth?" he inquired meaningly.
"Crumbs!" cried Seth. "Why, it's the same brand as those we found in the silver cigarette-case—marked 'Vafiadi, Cairo'! I wonder if the stranger was Herr Hilliger?"
"That's just what I was wondering, too," nodded Mark. "It's possible."
Mr. Croucher stared at the two Scouts indignantly.
"Do you suppose I shouldn't have known him?" he demanded. "Herr Hilliger wears a beard and has long hair. This man was clean-shaven, and his hair was quite short. Besides——"
"It wouldn't be impossible to shave off a beard and get a short crop," declared Mark. "Which way did he go?"
Mr. Croucher indicated the direction. The two Scouts went off hurriedly. Mark led the way across the warren to the Alderwick road and the little cross lane.
"It was just here that we captured Seligmann," he explained.
They searched the ground and discovered in the soft mud the newly impressed marks of the tyres of a motor-car and of a man's boots.
It was useless, of course, for them to attempt to track the car. Had they been able to do so, the trail would have led them many miles away, through village after village and town after town, northward along the coast. They might have run the car to earth at last on a desolate stretch of moorland where it had halted. Thence they might have followed Heinrich Hilliger's tracks to a pile of ruins—the ruins of an old-world castle—on the edge of a steep precipice overlooking the sea.
At the foot of the precipice was a tiny bay of deep, clear water, fringed with rocks. Between two of the rocks a small boat was drawn up on the shingle—a curious, collapsible boat made of water-tight canvas stretched on a steel frame. A pair of sculls lay across the thwarts. Nobody was in charge of it.
Heinrich Hilliger looked down into the depths and saw the boat as he passed along the edge of the cliff and made his way through the heather to the ruin. He gave a long, low whistle and a whistle came back to him in response.
"You have managed it, then!" cried a young voice; and from beyond a corner of the grey stone wall his son Max ran out, dressed in the uniform of a German naval officer.
The father and son embraced. Then Max laughed, looking at his father in amusement.
"It's as well you gave me the signal," he said, speaking in German. "I should hardly have known you without your beard. Well, you have been to Haddisport? What news of Fritz?"
"The worst news," answered Herr Hilliger. "He was caught. He was taken to prison. More than that, when we bombarded the town, one of our shells struck the prison-house and poor Fritz was killed! It seems like fate."
"Killed! By our own guns! Father, are you sure?"
"Absolutely. It is in the newspapers, and I have had confirmation of it from Old Croucher, whom I met outside Sunnydene. He did not recognise me; but he saved me the risk of showing myself in the town."
Max clenched and unclenched his hands.
"This is what comes of the silly, useless notion of bombarding open towns!" he declared. "What good has it done, to knock a few shops and hotels to pieces, to smash the windows of a few seaside villas, and to take the lives of a lot of innocent women and children? There was no military advantage in it! You have not even frightened the English people. They are only laughing at us for using our battleships to fire their shells into unfortified places instead of going out boldly to face the enemy in a fair and open fight!"
"You forget, my son," returned Herr Hilliger, "we sank a British submarine; we sowed many hundreds of explosive mines. There was some good in that, eh?"
"Not that I see," retorted Max. "The commander of that submarine was once my friend. He has dined at your own table. And from what I understand, the English mine-sweepers exploded all the mines before the day was out. I don't agree with sowing explosive mines on the high seas. It's not playing the game."
"Bah! Don't talk to me about playing the game, my dear Max. It is not a game; it is war. If we mean to beat the English we must not be hampered by any childish ideas of fair play. As for the killing of Fritz, it is of course unfortunate; but it could not have been foreseen. We must get some one to take his place, yourself, perhaps."
"No." Max shook his head resolutely. "I am not a spy. I shall do nothing underhand. Let us fight fairly and openly, not hit below the belt. I have my duties on the submarine, and I don't want to set foot in England until the war is over. I should not be here now, but that I have come to take you away—to give you a passage back to Wilhelmshaven. Are you ready? The submarine is lying submerged in the next bay, waiting for my signal."
"My dear Max," returned Hilliger, "I cannot go back with you. My place is here, in England, where I have been stationed. Since Fritz is dead, it is all the more important that I remain on this side. Our Zeppelins are preparing to come over, only waiting until I shall send a message to say that the wind and weather are suitable. When the time is favourable I must be on the spot with a car to guide them by its light to the places where they shall drop their bombs."
Max curled his lip contemptuously.
"And you call that war, I suppose," he sneered—"dropping fire-bombs on farmhouses and in kitchen-gardens! I could see some sense in it if we aimed at their aeroplane sheds, their dockyards, or their ammunition factories, or if we sank some of their Dreadnoughts and troopships. Why, if every house and inhabitant of Haddisport were destroyed, it wouldn't make a pin's difference in the progress of the war."
Herr Hilliger shrugged his shoulders and turned the subject by saying:
"I see, my dear Max, that you are wearing the Iron Cross. I congratulate you. I am proud. No doubt it is a reward for sinking those three British cruisers?"
Max nodded. "We shall sink others, too," he averred. "I shall not be satisfied until we have put a torpedo into one of their great battleships—one of their boasted Dreadnoughts."
He strode to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the water. The submarine was emptying her ballast tanks and was already in the awash condition. He moved his arms, signalling by semaphore to Lieutenant Körner standing on the conning-tower platform. Then, again embracing his father, he climbed down the difficult slope of the cliff to the collapsible boat, stepped into it, and pulled out to the submarine.