Chapter III: Part 3

Wondering if the casement were swinging loose on its hinges, he mounted to the top of the cliff and crossed the road to get the window between him and the light of the moon. An owl flew silently over the tops of the intervening fir trees. The house seemed indeed to be deserted. The idea that there still were alien enemies living in it was, after all, ridiculous, and it was only a waste of time to hang around the place any longer.

Beyond the long front garden wall was a pathway leading amongst the gorse and bracken to the main road. Darby determined to take this way back to the town.

He turned into the dark shadows of the path; but stopped abruptly, hearing the click of a gate latch. Some one was coming out by the side gate of Sunnydene. Quick footsteps were approaching, rustling in the dry bracken. He drew back and looked out from his ambush to see a cloaked figure dart past him in the clear light of the moon.

"Max!"

Darby leapt forward, clutching at a wing of the cloak. But it was wrenched violently away, and the hand beneath it was flung out, striking him a blow in the face that sent him reeling to the ground, while Max Hilliger, with a tin case full of maps and charts under his arm, stole downward to the beach.

*CHAPTER XI.*

*THE ESCAPE.*

Max Hilliger had not waited to ascertain who it was that had leapt out upon him from the shadows.

Against the light of the moon he had caught a glimpse of a Sea Scout's flat-topped cap, and the young voice that had uttered his name was no doubt the voice of one of his former companions of the Lion Patrol, who had been lurking in ambush to detain him, and perhaps bring about his arrest.

Max could only believe that his assailant was Mark Redisham, who lived near, and who had already shown inconvenient vigilance against him.

Mark Redisham had by some means intercepted the pigeon with the message which he, Max, had sent to his father from on board the _Minna von Barnhelm_. He had dared also to enter the pigeon-loft at Sunnydene, and perhaps to examine these special maps and charts that were now going over to Germany.

"Yes," Max ruminated as he made his way down the slopes of the cliff towards the beach, "it could only have been Mark Redisham. But whoever it was, I have given him a stinging knockdown blow that he won't forget in a hurry!"

By paths well known to him, he reached the foot of the cliff, and started off across the grassy denes, taking cover in the hollows and in the shadows of the gorse bushes, tightly gripping the tin case of charts under his arm and the small bag which he carried in his left hand. His right hand went to his belt, where there was a loaded revolver.

"If he'd shown fight," he reflected, fingering the weapon, "I might have used this. But it's a good thing I didn't. The noise would have alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and the Tommies on sentry-go along the beach would have nabbed me."

He knew that there were armed sentries on the beach. Since the beginning of the war, the whole of the east coast of Great Britain had been patrolled and watched at night by men in khaki with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets.

He was running the risk even now of being seen and made to give an account of himself. It was for this reason that he was so careful to take cover and to make no betraying sound as he went at Scouts' pace towards the sea.

For himself he had no fear, excepting that, if caught, he would be compelled to explain the compromising contents of his bag and the tin canister. It was the men in the waiting boat about whom he was anxious. They were Germans, and although one of them, Hermann Koerner, could speak excellent English, yet the others might easily betray themselves as foreigners and enemies.

When he reached the higher ridges of sand that intervened as a natural barrier between the beach and the level grass land, he went down on his elbows and knees and crept over the loose sand until he could look down upon the foreshore. He had come out, as he had intended to do, directly opposite one of the groins of black timber that reared their protecting walls across the beach. The deep-driven piles at the near end were covered with sand; at the far end they were washed by the tide. Many a time had Max dived into the deep water from the end of this same groin. As he looked at it searchingly now, he distinguished the dark shape of the boat against the blackness. It was about fifty yards away from him, with only an open slope of sea sand and shingle between. In a few moments he might be seated in the boat, when the rowers would push off.

But on that stretch of moonlit beach two figures had suddenly appeared. They were striding quickly towards the boat. He could see the moonshine glinting on their bayonets, and hear their heavy tread on the sand. One of them lowered his rifle, with a hand on the lever, as he called out a loud challenge to the boat:

"Who comes there?"

Max Hilliger's plan was working just as he had hoped. A tall man stood up from the boat and strode towards the two sentries.

"Friends!" he answered. And Max recognised the voice of Hermann Koerner. "It's all right, boys."

The patrol saw only indistinctly that he wore the uniform of a naval officer. Never doubting that he was British, they drew to a halt in front of him.

"We've got strict orders not to let anybody come ashore," one of them said.

"Yes, well," was the ready response, "you do your duty. But I have my duty also. I come ashore from ze revenue schooner out there. I report something. Listen!" He had seen their regimental badges in the moonlight, and noticed that one wore a corporal's stripe. "You are not local men," he went on; "you are probably strangers on the coast." He pointed to the cliff. "What sort of peoples live in the third house?" he questioned. It was Major Redisham's house which he indicated. "You don't know? Well, I recommend you keep a watch on it. Half an hour ago there was signals flashed from one of ze upper windows. It is well you go up and make inquiry into the matter."

The two men in khaki were now standing with their backs to the groin, beyond which Max Hilliger was crawling stealthily to the boat.

"Do you say they're alien spies, signallin' to some ship out at sea?" the corporal asked.

The stranger shrugged his shoulders in a way which to any one suspicious must at once have betrayed that he was a foreigner.

"Such is my impression, corporal," he answered, watching Max Hilliger step into the boat. "And knowing that there was a military patrol here, naturally I come ashore to warn you. Good night."

They waited until he had returned to his companions and pushed off. Then they crossed the denes together, and climbed the cliff path to the suspected house.

Pushing open the gate, they entered the drive, where they were confronted by Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole. Mark's greatcoat covered his naval clothes. Darby wore his Sea Scout's uniform, and he was dabbing his swollen nose with a blood-stained handkerchief.

"Signal lights have been seen flashing from the windows of this house," began the corporal.

"Who said so?" demanded Mark. "I'm sure no light of any sort has been seen. All the windows are thickly curtained. You're making a mistake."

"Oh, no, we're not!" insisted the corporal. "A naval officer from the revenue ship out there came ashore to tell us about it." He indicated the _Thor_.

"There's no revenue boat out there," declared Darby Catchpole. "That ship's not even British. You've been hoodwinked." He turned to Mark. "Do you see how the trick has been played?" he cried. "It's quite plain. While one of the boat's crew, speaking English, came ashore and kept the patrol off the scent, Max Hilliger slipped into the boat unseen! What's to be done?"

"If Max has gone aboard the ketch, we can't do much more than we've done already," declared Mark. "I've telephoned to the naval base, telling them to send out and capture the ketch while she's still at anchor. But are you certain sure that it was Max Hilliger you saw?"

Darby dabbed his handkerchief to his nose, which was still bleeding.

"What's the good of asking such a question?" he objected warmly. "I saw him as clearly as I see you now. He rounded on me when I called his name, and then fetched me a blow in the face that sent me sprawling. I saw what he carried, too--a long sort of tin box under his left arm and a bag in his left hand."

"The charts!" Mark Redisham ejaculated. "The charts!" Then to the corporal he added: "It's clear you've been had. The men in that boat were Germans, and a young German has escaped with them, taking a lot of charts and maps that will be no end of help to the enemy if they should attempt to land an invading army on this coast. That chap who kidded you about signal lights only wanted to draw your attention off the boat for a minute. You wouldn't have committed a crime if you had put a bullet into him. Haven't you been ordered not to let any boat come ashore?"

"Yes, of course," admitted the corporal. "But he was in uniform. He looked and talked like a British naval officer."

"Anyhow, you'll have to report the matter to your colonel," rejoined Mark.

The corporal seemed to have a sudden inspiration.

"How am I to know what you're tellin' me is true?" he demanded. "Who are you? What are you doin', spyin' round out here at this time of night?"

"I am the son of Major Redisham, who is now with his regiment in France," Mark answered. "I am, myself, in the Royal Naval Reserve, serving the King. My chum, here, is a Sea Scout. If that isn't enough, you can go up to the house and see my mother."

"Listen!" cried Darby Catchpole excitedly. "The ketch is lifting her anchor! She's making sail! Come along--quick! Don't stand jawing here."

The patrol shouldered their rifles and followed the two boys down to the beach. There came to them a curious, spluttering sound, like that of a motor-car being started. Mark Redisham stood still, listening and watching. The _Thor's_ sails were up, but there was very little wind to fill them. Nevertheless, she was moving. There was a commotion of water under her stern.

"She's got petrol engines!" Mark declared. "Look! Look, she's off!"

The corporal, realising the gravity of his former omission, now attempted to repair it. He threw himself forward on a knoll of sand, and levelling his rifle, took aim and fired at the escaping ketch.

*CHAPTER XII.*

*A FLEET IN HIDING.*

Standing at the vessel's stern beside the steersman, Max Hilliger saw the flash and heard the sharp report. He laughed. There was a second shot. A bullet whistled over his head and tore through the canvas of the mizzen sail.

"Hard a-starboard!" he ordered; and when she turned with her bow to the north-east, he added: "Steady!"

He glanced astern, taking his bearings by the familiar landmarks.

"Be careful, my friend," said Lieutenant Koerner, at his side. "There is the sandbank."

"That is why I am careful," returned Max. "We're going to cross it. It's our only safe way. If you keep to the channel, you must either risk a shot from the naval gun on Haddisport pier, or else run up against the destroyer anchored off Buremouth. I'm going to take her across the shoal, through a gap that's used only by the lifeboatmen. Leave it to me, Hermann."

It was a feat in seamanship which no local fisherman, familiar with the dangers of the Alderwick shoal, would have believed possible. But Max Hilliger knew every fathom over the sunken bank, and he brought the boat through so skilfully that no one on board even guessed how narrow was their escape from disaster.

When at length she was safe beyond the reef, her course was set and she sped along, driven by her powerful motor.

The sea was clear of all traffic during the night, and there were no ships in sight to notice her unusual speed or to question her business. And if there were mine-fields to fear, those on the British side of the North Sea were known to Max Hilliger, while Lieutenant Koerner knew equally well how to avoid those sown by the Germans in their own waters. So they went on in safety.

On the following morning, when they were off the Dogger Bank, heavy rain was falling. A fleet of fishing craft at work loomed dimly through the mist. As a precaution against suspicion, Koerner stopped the petrol engine, depending upon the sails. The rain mist was still thick at mid-day, when, as from behind a curtain, a squadron of British battle cruisers and light cruisers appeared, accompanied by a patrol flotilla of destroyers and submarines. They passed within a mile of the _Thor_, and challenged her by signal. The Dutch colours were run up to her masthead and she was allowed to go on unmolested.

During the short time the warships were in sight, Max Hilliger was busy taking notes concerning them. With the help of an English book of reference, he was able to identify each one of them and to discover all particulars as to her speed, tonnage, and armament. He noted with particular interest that one of the destroyers was the _Lupin_, by which he had himself been rescued when the _Atreus_ was mined, and that another was the _Levity_, upon which, as he had lately learned, Rodney Redisham was serving as a midshipman.

"Ah!" he regretted, gazing at the formidable bulk of the nearest battleship, "if this tub were only your submarine, Hermann, how you could distribute your torpedoes and send every one of them to the bottom! Look at their great guns--as great even as some of our own! We shall not easily beat them in a pitched battle. And they outnumber our High Sea Fleet. It must be by our submarines that we conquer them. Hermann, I want you to get me on board your submarine. Then we can get about the seas, sinking every English warship that we can find!"

"Very well, my friend," returned Lieutenant Koerner. "For you it will not be difficult. It needs only that you mention the ambition to your uncle, Admiral von Hilliger, and the thing is settled. Is it not so?"

It was to Admiral von Hilliger's flagship, the armoured cruiser _Schiller_, that Max was now bound. She was known to be lying behind the island of Heligoland, protected by the fortress and by the mine-fields of the Bight.

Lieutenant Koerner made a course by secret passages through the mines and under the lee of the Frisian Islands, and it was just before sunset that the _Thor_ entered the estuary of the Elbe and came into the midst of the Kaiser's High Sea Fleet.

Max Hilliger had constantly heard and read of the huge navy, the construction of which had played so prominent a part in Germany's plan of world-dominion; but his dreams had never presented anything to compare with the vast number and might of the warships now arrayed before his wondering eyes.

They stretched in an almost unbroken line across from Cuxhaven to Brunsbuttel--battleships which appeared to him far more powerful than any of the British Dreadnoughts that he had seen passing in the distance from the cliffs of Haddisport; armoured cruisers that looked like impregnable floating fortresses; light cruisers built for speed; and a vast multitude of destroyers, submarines, mine-layers, troopships, and armed liners.

His heart seemed to swell within him in patriotic pride. This was the fleet designed for the conquest of Britain, and he could not imagine how its purpose could fail.

Believing that the sea power of Great Britain was doomed to be broken, and that the future of the Fatherland was fated to be one of shining glory and greatness, he was thankful that he was a German; thankful that it was now to be his privilege to fight for her in the conquest of her worst enemy.

Lieutenant Koerner steered the ketch to her anchorage beside his submarine at the rear of the main fleet; and, in the deepening dusk of a rainy evening, Max was conveyed in a motor-launch to Admiral von Hilliger's flagship.

The admiral was at dinner and could not be interrupted even to receive his nephew from England, but Max found friends amongst the junior officers, and at length he was admitted.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*THE GERMAN ADMIRAL.*

In the admiral's state-room, Max quickly won his uncle's favour by producing his collection of special maps and charts--the same collection which Mark Redisham had discovered in the pigeon-loft at Sunnydene.

On the charts of the North Sea were clearly shown not only the depths in fathoms and the positions of newly-placed buoys and lightships for the guidance of pilots, but also the areas which the British Admiralty had sown with defensive mines.

Admiral von Hilliger examined them with keen scrutiny, stroking his long, fair beard with satisfaction as he observed particular features which were new to him.

"_Ja_," he nodded, making a mark with his pencil. "We shall use this channel when we go to bombard their fortified coast towns. It is just here that our invading troops can make a landing. You have two and a quarter fathoms of water close up to the beach at low tide--a lonely piece of exposed coast, within easy reach of a railway junction, and three cathedral cities. There are no fortifications to oppose us; and the little English Army is already in France! But first, my dear Max, we shall annihilate their miserable North Sea Fleet. Once we have got rid of their boasted Dreadnoughts and secured command of the seas, the rest will be as simple as eating your breakfast."

"If there is going to be a sea battle, uncle," Max ventured boldly, "I should not like to miss seeing it, and perhaps taking a small part in it."

The admiral shrugged his decorated shoulders and took up the chart of Alderwick Knoll.

"As a holiday entertainment it would be interesting," he responded. "And certainly there are ways in which your knowledge of the enemy may be useful."

"Also my knowledge of submarines," Max added.

"So?" returned his uncle, studying the chart. "And you have the wish to fight under the sea, eh? Well, my dear child, that is perhaps possible! We have many under-sea boats in commission, and many more building, for which we shall require crews. I will arrange it. In the meantime, you will be provided with a midshipman's uniform and remain on board the _Schiller_. But what is this so carefully prepared chart?"

"It is a reef off the English coast, sir," Max explained, "a place convenient for our submarines to lie safely hidden, to pounce out upon enemy ships and sink them. Also, there is a secret store of petrol buried in the sand dunes quite near. My father has not been idle."

"Good!" said the admiral. "Yes, we shall sink their ships--merchant ships as well as vessels of war. We shall blockade their coasts, and so, stopping their food supplies, starve the contemptible English. But that will be when we have destroyed their battle fleets, as we shall do as soon as they choose to come out from their fortified harbours, where at present they remain in close hiding."

Max Hilliger very well knew that Sir John Jellicoe's Grand Fleet was not in hiding; but he did not wish just now to contradict his uncle. He simply said:

"Some of their cruiser squadrons are nevertheless venturing nearer to our mine-fields than is good for them, sir. To-day, for example, we passed a squadron hardly a score of miles from the south-west of Heligoland."

"Ha!" cried the admiral, growing excited. "So near? Why did you not inform me at once, instead of wasting my time and our opportunity? Already we might have sent out a flotilla of our faithful submarines to torpedo them! A squadron, you say? Of what strength?"

Max produced the notes that he had taken.

"Thunder and lightning!" exclaimed his uncle, at sight of the precise details. And, gathering the charts and the notes, he got into his oilskins and hurried out of the cabin to hold a council of war with several of his fellow admirals and captains on board the cruiser _Klopstock_.

Max saw no more of him that night; but by the bustle and excitement and incessant noise that kept him from sleeping, he knew that the ship was being prepared for action.

Early in the morning he was awakened by the chunking of the engines and the noisy working of the ammunition hoists. He got up and dressed in his midshipman's uniform and went out to the upper deck. The rain had ceased, but there was a thick mist over the sea, through which he could only dimly make out the cliffs of Heligoland with their concrete battlements and bristling guns.

As the cruiser drew nearer, he could see the forts more clearly, with the naval harbour, from which a large flotilla of destroyers and submarines had just come out. Here the _Schiller_ came to a stop beside other cruisers--the _Klopstock_ with her four tall funnels, the _Goethe_, the _Ariadne_, the _Coblentz_, and the great _Derfflinger_, with her five pairs of 12-inch guns--while twenty destroyers, accompanied by six submarines, disappeared in the mist on their way out to sea.

On board the _Schiller_ all was cleared for action, everything inflammable was left behind, and the decks were flooded in case of fire, the guns were loaded and the men at their stations all ready for fighting, waiting only for a wireless message to come back from the advance scouts to say that the enemy had been found.

Instead of a Marconi message, there came the distant booming of British 4-inch guns, mingling with the sound of the drums as the bands on the German cruisers played "Der Wacht am Rhein."

"Ha!" cried Admiral von Hilliger, rubbing his hands together as he paced his quarter-deck. "Now we have them!"

A signal was sent out to two of the cruisers, the _Klopstock_ and the _Coblentz_, which immediately steamed off, to be followed a little later by the _Schiller_ herself and the _Ariadne_, which took a slightly different direction, in order, as was intended, to take the enemy on the opposite flank and so envelop them.

In the open sea, outside Heligoland, and beyond the area of the German mines, British destroyers and submarines, supported by light cruisers and battle cruisers had for a week past been busily reconnoitring, showing themselves boldly, and inviting the Kaiser's ships to come out. But until this morning the invitation had been ignored.

Now, however, as the flotilla of German torpedo boats sallied forth to give chase to what they supposed was a mere patrol of light craft which they might easily deal with, a strong, picked force of our destroyers, headed by the new light cruiser _Athene_, dashed out from the mist to cut off the German boats from home and engage them at leisure in the open sea.

The action was begun by the _Levity_ and the _Lupin_ in a running fight, and so well were their 4-inch guns served that one of the enemy destroyers was crippled in trying to escape, and shortly afterwards a second was seen to sink. The _Athene_ manoeuvred to get clear of Hermann Koerner's submarine, which was within torpedo range.

Then the German destroyers scattered, drawing back to the mine-field, and to the support of the _Klopstock_ and the _Coblentz_, which were now coming out.

The _Athene_, leading the line of destroyers, met the heavy gunfire of the _Klopstock_, and engaged her at a range of about three thousand yards.

For half an hour the two cruisers fought, the _Athene_ holding her own against a ship more than double her size. She sustained some damage and a few casualties, and the situation was becoming critical when a second British light cruiser, the _Sarpedon_, steamed up to her support. Three destroyers joined in the attack with their torpedoes, whereupon the German turned tail and disappeared in the mist.

The _Athene_ and the _Sarpedon_, followed by the destroyers _Levity_ and _Lupin_, now gave chase to the German _Coblentz_, and drove her, seriously injured, to the protection of the mine-field. Ten minutes later the armoured cruiser _Schiller_ came out, with Admiral von Hilliger in command, and his nephew, Max, on board.

She at once opened her guns on the _Athene_ and the _Sarpedon_. Salvo after salvo was directed towards the two British cruisers, but every shell fell short, while many of the _Athene's_ 6-inch shells battered her sides. A division of our destroyers joined in the fray with their deck-guns, and the _Levity_ in particular annoyed the Germans by the accuracy of her aim.

Max Hilliger watched her through a pair of powerful binoculars, and once, when the air was momentarily clear of smoke, he caught sight of Rodney Redisham in a prominent position on her high bridge.

He went up to the admiral.

"Turn your guns on that destroyer, sir," he implored. "Sink her! Sink her!"

*CHAPTER XIV.*

*BRAVE AS A BRITON.*

Whether it was that Admiral von Hilliger supposed that his nephew had some vital reason for drawing his attention to the _Levity_, or that his executive officers had resolved independently to punish this particularly bold and annoying destroyer, it is certain that the _Levity_ became for some minutes a special mark for the _Schiller's_ big guns.

Shells fell around the little vessel like a storm of hail, and many must have hit her but that she remained end on, thus making herself a smaller target. At length one fell between her funnels, crashed through her deck-plates, and exploded in her engine-room, leaving her helpless.

The _Athene_ and the _Sarpedon_ continued to send their 6-inch lyddite shells into the German cruiser, their forward guns firing at the rate of half a dozen rounds a minute.

These two British light cruisers were themselves receiving a large share of the _Schiller's_ fire at long range, and were being constantly aimed at by torpedoes from the enemy submarines and destroyers, while there was always the danger of their running foul of floating mines. They were being hard pressed. Already the _Athene_ had sent out wireless messages to the British battle cruiser squadron in the rear, reporting that she was in need of help.

The German cruiser _Klopstock_ had by this time reappeared from the mist, and was steaming down to join battle. The situation was critical, yet the British ships stood their ground, and a well-placed shell from the _Sarpedon_ smashed the forward bridge of the _Schiller_ and injured her foremost funnel, while another from the _Athene_ burst through her port bulwarks amidships and so damaged her internally that her engines stopped and she was seen to be on fire.

At this moment the four-funnelled _Stein_ loomed out of the fog. The _Athene_ signalled to her consort and the destroyers to withdraw and accompany her to cut off this new enemy cruiser.

All followed her excepting the disabled _Levity_, which remained rolling helplessly within point blank range of the _Schiller's_ guns. The explosion of the shell in her engine-room had burst one of her main steam-pipes, crippling her for the time. Her own 4-inch guns were served, but her shells fell short. Below decks the men kept grimly at their work in their efforts to repair the damaged machinery, and all the time shells fell fast and thick round the wounded vessel.

"It looks as if we were done for, this time," the commander admitted to one of his lieutenants, as Rodney Redisham mounted to the bridge to give a report from the chief engineer. "We can't live long through this."

"Unless one of the flotilla should return and take us in tow," suggested the lieutenant. "They don't seem to realise that we are crippled, sir."

"I am not going to ask for help, however," the commander resolved. "It would be too risky for one of them to come back now." He lighted a cigarette. "We will just hold on with our flag flying until we sink. Anyhow, we have done our duty."

"The chief engineer says he can't repair the steam-pipe without drawing the fires, sir," Rodney reported.

"Thank you, Redisham," nodded the captain, "We will stick to the ship, but see that every one wears a life collar."

He continued to pace the bridge. The officers stood each at his post waiting for the end. No mercy could be expected from the Germans. The _Schiller_ had now only one small target within range, and although her gunners were aiming badly, yet here and there a sailor dropped wounded by flying shrapnel, and more than one shell burst inboard, wrecking cabins and killing two men.

Ah! Suddenly the _Lupin_, with magnificent British pluck, was seen bearing down upon the _Levity_ at full speed, little heeding the fact that she was charging into an inferno, and that at any moment a well-placed shot might sink her. She was coming to the help of her sorely-tried consort.

With splendid seamanship she was brought round. Not a shot touched her. She came close alongside. A rope was thrown to the _Levity_; a hawser was quickly passed and secured. In another minute both destroyers would have been out of danger; but just as the _Levity_ was hauled round broadside on to the German guns, the strained cable snapped.

All seemed over now. There could be no escape for either the stricken _Levity_ or her daring rescuer. The gunlayers on board the _Schiller_, fearing that they were being baulked of their prey, redoubled their efforts to sink her.

"Every man for himself!" shouted the British commander.

From the _Lupin_, now standing off, there came a tremendous cheer.

Rodney Redisham, coming up on deck through the splintered companion, heard the cheer repeated, and saw his commander and fellow officers gravely raising their hands aloft in a last farewell salute. He turned and glanced round to the westward, and to his amazement there came plunging out of the mist the giant shape of a British Dreadnought cruiser, flying a vice-admiral's pennant.

It was the _Saturn_, the first of the battle line.

The mighty 13-inch guns of the cruiser boomed out across the sea, and with the first salvo the _Schiller_ was hit in a vital part. The hail of shells round the two destroyers suddenly ceased. Another hawser was shipped, and the _Levity_ was towed away.

With the battle cruiser squadron the light cruiser squadron also appeared and joined in the confused fighting. The _Saturn_ and her immediate consorts gave chase to the _Stein_, very quickly sank her, and set the _Klopstock_ on fire. A second of the German destroyers was sent to the bottom, whilst many others were badly damaged.

In the meantime, the _Athene_ and the _Sarpedon_ had driven one of the enemy cruisers, the _Coblentz_, back towards the _Schiller_, where she turned and engaged them hotly at long range. Both of the British ships received a good deal of injury themselves before they succeeded in sinking her.

The crippled _Schiller_ was still above water, trying to escape with all the speed which her damaged engines would allow. The _Sarpedon_ gave chase and opened fire upon her at a range of about ten thousand yards.

Admiral von Hilliger replied feebly with his after-turret guns and attempted further to check his pursuer by dropping explosive mines in his wake. But the British ship, with her greater speed, quickly overhauled him and exchanged broadsides with him.

Flames and thick smoke were still rising from the _Schiller_, when a shell, falling close beside her, sent up a great fountain of water which deluged her decks and extinguished the fire.

Shortly afterwards, a beautifully-placed shot took away two of her funnels, and again she was seen to be on fire. All amidships became a raging furnace; her mainmast fell by the board. Then there was a sudden silence on both sides. It was now only a question of saving lives.

The _Sarpedon_ bore down upon her stricken enemy, going close up to her on the windward side and launching two of her boats.

At close quarters the devastating effect of the British 6-inch lyddite shells was plainly apparent. The German flagship's thickly armoured hull was like a sieve. Her fore-bridge was a tangled mass of ironwork; the wire stays of her foremast were swinging in the air. Her guns were smashed and bent, some looking round corners, some lying on their sides. Her upper decks were in a state of chaos; her fallen funnels and ventilators were red hot, and every boat was burnt. She was sinking in a cloud of smoke and flame and hissing steam.

Unnoticed by any one near, the periscope of a submarine was moving in the midst of the drowning Germans who had jumped into the sea from the doomed cruiser. The submarine was the British H29.

Below, at his post in the conning-tower, Lieutenant Ingoldsby watched all that was going on about him. He had been prepared to send his last remaining torpedo into the _Schiller_, but this was now unnecessary. He watched the _Sarpedon's_ boats coming to the rescue of the struggling Germans, whom he could not himself attempt to save. He watched the cruiser sinking.

There appeared to be only a very few living beings left on board of her. A couple of officers stood under the wreckage of her fore-bridge. There was a lonely figure on her quarter-deck, dimly visible amid the smoke and flames. He, too, looked like an officer, though little could be seen of his uniform, excepting a broad band of gold on his sleeve. His head was bare. He held his hands pressed to his eyes, as if he were blinded by the smoke, or as if he were unwilling to look upon what little remained of the ship.

Suddenly, while Ingoldsby watched, he saw one of the officers under the bridge climb up by a stanchion and leap over into the sea. The other ran aft into the smoke, disappeared for a moment, and then again was seen staggering along the red hot deck with his cap held over his mouth, dodging in and out amongst the wreckage.

For an instant he stood in hesitation, and Ingoldsby saw that he was only a youth, a midshipman. Then again he ran as with some madly hopeless purpose aft towards the quarter-deck. He was lost in the smoke for a while, but once more he appeared, crawling perilously along the narrow strip of coaming at the edge of the flame-swept deck.

Had the boy wanted to save his own life he might have done so many times by leaping down into the sea. But such most surely was not his design. Lieutenant Ingoldsby understood his intention, and thrilled with admiration as he saw it most bravely fulfilled. Dashing through the smoke, the lad at last reached the officer who had stood alone on the quarter-deck; caught him by the arm, spoke to him imploringly, and then led him gently to the vessel's side. They stood together, an admiral and a midshipman. Together they leapt into the waves.

"About the pluckiest act I've ever witnessed!" declared Lieutenant Ingoldsby. "Desmond, you ought to have seen it."

"Seen what, sir?" Lieutenant Desmond inquired.

"I'll tell you about it afterwards," returned Ingoldsby, still gazing intently into the periscope mirror. "Hullo! She's gone down!"

Just at this juncture, as the _Schiller_ sank, a large German armoured cruiser, coming out of the mist, opened fire upon the _Sarpedon_, whose two boats were busy picking up survivors. To save his ship, and in obedience to orders he had received to retire, the British commanding officer steamed off, abandoning his two boats with the officer in charge of them, nine seamen, and the prisoners whom they had so far rescued.

Lieutenant Ingoldsby set his electric motor to work and started off to attack the enemy cruiser, but the latter altered course to the northward before the submarine could be brought within torpedo range. Ingoldsby thereupon returned to the boats, emptying his ballast tanks and rising awash close beside them, greatly to the astonishment of their occupants.

He stepped out on the deck of the conning-tower, followed by his sub-lieutenant and quarter-master.

"I'm sorry I haven't got anything like room for the lot of you, sir," he said to the officer in charge of the boats. "What had we better do?"

"We have twenty-five survivors," the other answered, "most of them badly wounded. Three of them are officers. One, indeed, is an admiral. You'd better make sure of him, in any case."

"I think I shall be justified in making sure of my own countrymen first," returned Ingoldsby. "Yourself and your men. That's ten all told. Well, perhaps I can make room for the admiral and his two officers; but no more. You see, we may have to submerge. We can let the rest of them have the boats. I can give them water, biscuits, and a compass, and set them a course back to Heligoland. They're not all of them wounded, are they? Some of them look as if they could work the oars. Which is the admiral?"

He looked across at the farther boat and saw a red-bearded man at the stern lying back with his head resting on the gunwale, while a youth in midshipman's uniform, kneeling at his side, was bathing his eyes with a bit of rag dipped in sea water. Like the rest of the rescued Germans, they were woefully bedraggled and wet, their scorched clothes hanging in tatters.

"Ah!" exclaimed Lieutenant Ingoldsby, recognising the man whom he had seen on the quarterdeck. "It's the same. And that's the boy who saved him. I'm glad you picked them up. Draw the boat alongside and let us get them aboard."

The midshipman turned a wan face towards him, gazed at him with red and swollen eyes, and shrank back.

"Queer!" murmured Lieutenant Ingoldsby in perplexity. "I'm almost certain I've seen that boy before, somewhere!"

He went below to plan how the additions to his ship's company could be accommodated and to send up provisions for the boats. The British sailors were brought on board.

"The admiral will share my cabin," he said. "Bring him down, Desmond."

"He refuses to come, sir," declared Lieutenant Desmond, "or, rather, the middy refuses for him. The middy speaks wonderfully good English."

Ingoldsby, still more puzzled, went back on deck. The admiral was now sitting up in the stern sheets of the boat, blinking his inflamed eyes, and looking exceedingly miserable.

"Won't you come on board, sir?" Ingoldsby invited, speaking in the best German he could muster.

It was the midshipman who answered.

"No," he said. "We will not be indebted to our enemies. It would be better for us to die here and now."

Lieutenant Ingoldsby gave a curious start of recognition and stood staring into the youth's haggard face.

"Max Hilliger!" he cried. "You--here! Why, you were at home in Haddisport only a couple of days ago! How did you come to be aboard a German cruiser--and dressed as an officer, too? You used to be a Scout--an English Sea Scout. You haven't the right to wear the uniform of an officer, even an officer in the German navy."

"I have the right to fight for my own country," Max answered boldly. "And if I wear an officer's uniform, that is my affair and the affair of my uncle, Admiral von Hilliger."

"Ah!" rejoined Ingoldsby. "He is your uncle. is he? That explains. I had forgotten you had an uncle in the Kaiser's service. But you did a jolly plucky thing when you saved him just now, Max; as plucky a thing as I've ever seen. While I watched you doing it I was wishing that you were British. You were really as brave as a Briton. I hope you didn't get badly burnt."

Max glanced downward to his left leg. The bare skin was scorched. His left arm, too, was blistered from elbow to wrist.

"You had better come aboard here and I will give you some dressing," Lieutenant Ingoldsby advised. "Bring Admiral von Hilliger with you. We haven't much accommodation. But we shall not be very long getting across to England."

Max Hilliger frowned.

"I suppose you mean us to go aboard as your prisoners of war?" he said. "Perhaps you could force us, since we are helpless. But you cannot take us all. It would be better if you took some of our severely wounded. My uncle and I very much prefer to stay where we are and to find our own way back to Germany, or die on the way."

"Oh, I'm not going to force you!" returned Lieutenant Ingoldsby. "A submarine is not supposed to carry passengers or to take prisoners. Remain in the boat if you wish. But at least you will not object to our attending to the wounded before we part."

So shockingly hurt were many of the Germans that it seemed almost a hopeless task to give them even ordinary first-aid. But for half an hour or so the British officers and men were occupied in doing the best they could. They were short of bandages, but with true British sympathy for their unfortunate enemies, they stripped themselves of everything but their trousers, and tore up their clothes with which to bind the wounds.

In the circumstances, Lieutenant Ingoldsby could not have been blamed for giving Admiral von Hilliger and his nephew their liberty. But had he foreseen what their freedom was to cost in innocent lives it is probable that he would have acted differently.

*CHAPTER XV.*

*TREASURE TROVE.*

"In the very probable event of an invasion," asserted Mr. Croucher, addressing a group of four Sea Scouts who had gathered at the lookout station on the sea-front, "in the very probable event of an invasion, we are totally unprepared and defenceless. As I was saying to Mrs. Daplin-Gennery only the other day, we ought to have big guns stationed at intervals all along the coast. A few newly-enlisted Territorials are billeted in the town; but what good will they be when the Germans come over here in force?"

"They could give the alarm, sir," suggested Ned Quester, whose brother was a Territorial.

"Give the alarm?" repeated Mr. Croucher with contempt. "And what then? No amount of alarm would repel an invading army. We want guns--guns, and men who can handle them. Civilians are not allowed to take up arms. Look at what has happened in Belgium! We ought to have realised long ago that the Germans intended to make war on us. They've been planning it for years. My argument is that we ought to have batteries posted all along the coast."

"Aren't warships, that can move about, as good as fixed batteries, sir?" questioned Darby Catchpole.

"Warships are no good against Zeppelins," declared Mr. Croucher. "Take my word for it, the enemy have got many more airships than we've any idea of; and every one of them capable of carrying a company of soldiers with heavy artillery. Then they have their flat-bottomed barges; hundreds of them, which they will use as transports."

"But we have our battleships and submarines, sir," interposed Mark Redisham, "and it isn't at all likely that the enemy can get past them."

"Don't be too sure, Redisham," urged Mr. Croucher. "Don't be too sure. They can slip past them in a sea mist and land troops here on Haddisport beach. And when they do, we shall be annihilated. It's no good thinking that our dwelling houses are any protection. One shell from a German cruiser, one explosive bomb from a Zeppelin, would smash any of the houses along this esplanade. I wonder people are so callous as to live in houses that are little better than targets to be aimed at from both sea and air!"

Darby Catchpole ran his eye along the exposed dwellings.

"Sunnydene is about the best target of the lot," he smiled. "It would be funny if the enemy were to bombard the property of the brother of one of their own admirals!"

Mr. Croucher shook his head wisely.

"They won't bombard Sunnydene," he affirmed. "Young Max Hilliger, who, it seems, was rescued with his uncle from the _Schiller_, will see to it that the house is not harmed."

"In that case, Sunnydene would be a safe refuge for us," Mark Redisham declared. "At the first alarm we ought to round up all the women and children and corral them in the grounds."

"The chances are that the Germans would batter Sunnydene to bits in aiming at your own house, Mark," laughed Darby.

"For my own part," resumed Mr. Croucher, "I am getting a man to dig a refuge trench in my back garden. He'd nearly finished it yesterday, only unfortunately in the heavy rain last night the sides fell in for want of supports. The corporation ought to have proper trenches dug on the denes where the inhabitants could fly in case of danger."

"And get killed while they're flying," mischievously suggested Seth Newruck.

"Mrs. Daplin-Gennery is going to have one dug in her kitchen-garden," observed Mark Redisham. "Her gardener has enlisted, however, so we Scouts are going to do a good turn by digging it. Indeed, we are now on our way down to the beach to have a bit of practice and plan out the thing."

"Ah!" said Mr. Croucher, "I expect you'll do it so well that you'll have all the neighbourhood asking you to dig trenches in their gardens. Well, it's for the good of the community. If the War Office and the Admiralty together won't look after us, we must look after ourselves."

Mark got three spades from his own tool shed and borrowed another from Mrs. Daplin-Gennery's chauffeur. Armed with these implements, he and his companions went down to the foot of the cliff.

It was useless to think of digging even an experimental trench in the loose sand of the beach, so they selected a piece of more solid ground between the foreshore and the grass land. They chose the spot almost at random. Even Darby Catchpole did not realise at first how near they were to the groin from which Max Hilliger had escaped into the boat with his case of charts.

Mark Redisham staked out the ground and they began to dig, piling the soil on the side nearest the sea. It was decided that when the trench was deep enough, it should be roofed in with cross planks and brushwood, upon which the soil should be heaped to resist the impact of bombs from the air or shells from the sea; but at present the work was only undertaken as practice in excavation. The cross planks, the sap trench, and the means of entrance and exit would be properly applied when the dug-out came to be made in Mrs. Daplin-Gennery's garden.

They had been digging for about half an hour, when Seth Newruck's spade chipped against something that was neither soil nor stone. He looked down at the thing in wonder, then grabbed at it.

"Darby! Mark!" he cried. "See what I've found! A cigarette case! It's silver!"

His companions all crowded up to him to look at it over his shoulder. Certainly it was a silver cigarette-case, and a very handsome one. There was a monogram engraved in the centre of its chased surface.

"It isn't even tarnished," declared Mark Redisham. in surprise. "It's almost new. It can't have been buried very long. How deep did you find it?"

"Just here," Seth explained, pointing out the spot about two feet down.

"That's queer!" resumed Mark. "I can't understand--unless some one has been digging here before us, quite lately, and dropped it by accident. Some of the Territorials, perhaps."

"Now that I come to think of it," said Darby Catchpole, "the ground did look as if it had been disturbed. There was no grass growing on top."

Mark Redisham had opened the case. It contained three cigarettes, held in place by a band of blue elastic. He took one of them out and examined it.

"I've seen a cigarette like this before," he averred. "They're Egyptian, see! 'Vafiadi, Cairo.' Who was it that I saw smoking one? Not Lieutenant Ingoldsby: not Captain Damant." He looked again at the monogram, and gave a long, low whistle of astonishment. "Oh, I know, I know now! Keep on digging, you chaps," he ordered. "Here you are, Seth. Findings are keepings."

He seized his spade and continued digging until his back ached and the perspiration rolled down his sunburnt cheeks. He moved from place to place in the trench, keeping it at a uniform depth. They had got below the dark soil to the soft sea sand.

"You're making it too wide, Mark," Darby objected.

Mark went down on his knees and began to sniff about.

"Don't you smell something?" he questioned, scratching at the sand with his hands. Then he pulled and tugged at something heavy. "Eureka!" he shouted. "Look here, Darby! Petrol! a tin of petrol! two tins--a whole lot of them!"

Darby leant over from the side of the trench and saw the exposed tops of a number of square red canisters.

"Enough to keep a motor-car going for a year," he declared.

"Yes," added Mark, "or a German submarine for a month."

"Why German?" Darby asked.

Mark laughed.

"Because," he answered, "I don't suppose Herr Hilliger would have been so considerate as to keep a secret store of petrol for the accommodation of his enemies. Yes, you may stare. But even if the letters 'H.H.' on that silver case didn't stand for Heinrich Hilliger, I should still have known that the cigarettes were of the same brand as the remains of one that I found on the floor of his pigeon-loft."

He vaulted out of the trench.

"Newruck and Quester will keep watch here," he said to Darby. "I want you to come along with me to the naval base."

*CHAPTER XVI.*

*THE BOMB-PROOF SHELTER.*

Nothing was said in Haddisport concerning the discovery and removal of the secret store of petrol buried in the sand on Alderwick Denes. The reason for the silence was that no one unconnected with the naval base knew anything about the matter.

Any day during the herring season carts may be seen on the denes carrying to and fro the fleets of nets that are spread out to dry on the grass; and if two heavily-laden carts in particular were noticed being drawn along the lower road towards the town, no one was any the wiser as to their contents, since the red-painted tins of petrol which they carried were successfully hidden under cover of herring nets. Mark Redisham and his fellow scouts knew too well the importance of their discovery to say anything about it, even in their homes.

One thing which the members of the Lion Patrol had especially laid to heart from the beginning of the war was the necessity of keeping silence when in the performance of their duties they chanced to come into possession of a naval or a military secret.

They had shown that they could be trusted with information which never came to the knowledge of the ordinary reader of newspapers or of local gossips such as Constable Challis and old Mr. Croucher. Amongst themselves they might indeed talk and compare notes; but only within limits. Mark Redisham, for example, knew many things which he never mentioned to Darby Catchpole, while Darby was similarly silent towards Mark.

"Strictly between ourselves, sir," said Constable Challis, meeting Mr. Croucher on the esplanade, "I believe young Mark Redisham knows exactly where Sir John Jellicoe's Grand Fleet is at this moment, and what our submarines are doin' across there under the very noses of the enemy's forts. He knows a lot, sir. But you can take it from me, you might as well try to get blood out of a stone as information out of him."

"It's the same with young Catchpole," nodded Mr. Croucher significantly. "Time after time I've asked that boy to tell me in confidence things which I'm certain he knows--things about our ships and their mysterious movements, things about our awful disasters at sea which are being systematically hidden from us; but it's useless, Challis--useless, and we are kept in the dark; always kept in the dark."