I.

''Ere, wot's that over there?' inquired Pincher Martin, coming on to the forecastle early one morning with a basin of hot cocoa for one Billings, able seaman.

Joshua looked round. 'Na then, young fella, don't go spillin' the ruddy stuff,' he grunted agitatedly, taking the bowl with a nod of thanks. 'Wot's wot?'

'That there,' said the ordinary seaman, pointing.

''Er?' remarked the A.B. huskily, breathing heavily on to the hot liquid to cool it. 'That there? Only a bloomin' Zeppeling, Pincher. You've see'd 'em afore, ain't yer?'

'Course I 'as. Only I thort to meself as 'ow she looked a bit different, some'ow. Quite pretty like, ain't she?'

The distant airship, floating apparently motionless above the eastern horizon, certainly did appear a thing of beauty for the time being. Her elongated body, dwarfed by the distance until it appeared barely an inch long, was plainly silhouetted as a gray-blue shape against the clear, rosy sky of the dawn, while her curved under-side reflected the scarlet and orange of the rapidly rising sun. She looked graceful and almost ethereal—not a thing of bombs, terror, and destruction.

Joshua drank his cocoa with noisy gulps. 'I don't know abart wot she looks like,' he observed at length, wiping his mouth with the back of a particularly grimy hand. 'You wait till she starts droppin' 'er bombs. I reckons them blokes is no better'n murderers.'

'Why doesn't we 'ave a pop at 'er?'

''Ave a pop at 'er! She's twenty mile orf, if she's a hinch, an' yer knows as well as I does that none o' our ships 'ere 'as got hanti-haircraft guns wot'll 'it 'er at that range.' Joshua sucked his teeth, and proceeded to explore the inner recesses of his mouth with the end of a burnt match.

'Why doesn't we chase 'er, then?'

'Chase 'er! Wot's the good? She kin go 'er fifty knots, an'll be orf like a rigger afore we gits anywheres near 'er. She'll watch it she don't git inter trouble. You ain't got a fag or a fill o' bacca abart yer, I s'pose?'

Pincher shook his head firmly. He knew Joshua of old.

Billings smiled affably, produced a well-blackened clay from the pocket of his lammy coat, and proceeded to light it. 'Ah!' he sighed contentedly, patting himself gently on the stomach and puffing out a cloud of smoke, 'that drop o' cocoa done me orl th' good in the world. I feels has bright an' has fresh as a li'l dicky-bird.'

Pincher smiled, for the simile was hardly an apt one. Joshua had kept the first watch till midnight, and, after four hours' sleep in his clothes, had been up again since four o'clock as a member of the duty gun's crew. His eyes were sleepy and bloodshot, his hands and face were indescribably filthy, and his chin sported an ugly stubble of three days' growth. He was not a pleasant sight. Moreover, it was summer, and the weather was perfectly fine and unusually warm; but, true to the custom of the British bluejacket, he was wearing sufficient clothing to keep the cold from an Antarctic explorer. His figure was ponderous at the best of times; it was now elephantine, and anything less like a dicky-bird it was impossible to imagine.

'That bloke,' he went on, pointing with his pipe-stem at the far-away airship, 'is spyin' art th' land. She's 'avin' a "looksee" at wot we're doin' of, an' I shouldn't wonder but wot ole Zep wus up there hisself. I did 'ear as 'ow 'e'd bin given th' Iron Cross.'

'Garn!' chortled Pincher rudely. 'Wot for?'

'Strafin', fat'ead; wot else d'you think? Probably 'e's usin' 'is wireless an' tellin' ole Tirpitz as 'ow we've come 'ere to pay 'im a visit. "Tirps, ole fella," 'e sez, "these 'ere gordamned Henglish swine 'ounds 'ave come agen." "Sorry, Zep, ole chum," sez Tirps; "I carn't attend to 'em now. I'm hinvited ter breakfuss wi' th' Hadmiral o' th' 'Igh Sea Fleet, an' I carn't git wastin' of 'is bacon an' heggs in these 'ere 'ard times. Tell th' Henglish ter shove orf outa it, an' ter come agen, an' I'll 'ave a few submarines an' mines awaitin' for 'em. Th' navy's 'avin' its make an' mend,[ [35] an' carn't be disturbed." That's wot ole man Tirps is sayin', I'll give yer my word.'

The men round about laughed.

'I reckons they'll never come out o' their 'arbour 'cept they knows Jellicoe an' Beatty is outa th' way,' some one observed.

'An' our boss!'[ [36] chipped in another man. ''E's a 'oly 'orror for scrappin'. Look wot 'e done at 'Eligoland! "If yer sees a 'Un, go fur 'im;" that's 'is motter.'

'An' a damn good motter, too,' said Joshua approvingly. 'But I reckon they knows wot they're up against. This 'ere war's like 'ide an' seek. W'en we pops inter 'arbour fur a bit, they pops art, takin' mighty good care not ter git too far from 'ome, mind yer; an' w'en we pops art arter 'em, they pops back 'ome agen. It ain't play in' the game, in a manner o' speakin'. 'Ow many times 'as we bin scullin' round th' North Sea an' never see'd a ruddy thing? Dozens an' dozens! It makes me fair sick sometimes.'

'But they 'ave bin acrost once or twice, an' bombarded places,' Pincher ventured.

Billings snorted loudly. 'Course they 'as; but it don't take much guts ter come scuttlin' acrost th' North Sea durin' th' night, an' ter start pluggin' shell at an undefended town th' nex' mornin'! They takes jolly good care they doesn't stay too long, I hobserves, an' they shoves orf back 'ome agen afore anythin' big 'as a chawnce o' gettin' a slap at 'em. Arter orl, wotever blokes ashore may say abart th' navy not bein' there ter pertect 'em, we carn't ruddy well be everywheres. Th' North Sea ain't no bloomin' duck-pond; an' look at th' time we spends on th' briny!'

His hearers nodded in agreement.

'I reckons some o' these 'ere shore-loafers don't know w'en they're well orf,' Joshua went on. 'They gits orl their meals reg'lar; but a good many on 'em don't recollec' as 'ow it's th' likes of us wot's keepin' their stummicks full. They 'as ter pay a bit extry fur their vittles p'r'aps; but that ain't nothink ter start 'owlin' abart in war-time.'

'That's a fac',' said Pincher wisely.

'Course it is; but a good many o' th' blokes wot I'm talkin' abart starts yellin' somethink horful w'en they gits a few shells plugged at 'em, an' wants ter know wot th' navy's doin' of. I don't 'xactly blame 'em, fur no blokes wot ain't mad likes bein' shot at; but they might recollec' that we're keepin' 'em from starvin', in a manner o' speakin', an' that we is doin' our bit; damn sight bigger bit than wot some of 'em himagines.' Joshua paused for breath.

'If them Germans 'ad a coast as long as ourn,' he went on—for when once he started to give vent to his opinions little could stop him—'an' if they 'ad undefended seaside towns th' same as we 'ave, I reckons we could go an' do th' dirty on 'em. Only we wouldn't, 'cos it ain't war ter go killin' a lot of innercent wimmin an' children wot ain't done no 'arm. I reckons we treats them 'Uns too good; fur wi' their submarines, an' Zeppelings, an' the way they treats our prisoners, they're no better 'n murderers!' He cleared his throat noisily, and expectorated with extraordinary violence into the sea. They were somewhere near the German coast at the time, so perhaps that accounted for his expression of contempt.

Billings only voiced the opinions of the remainder of his shipmates. Nobody thought for a single instant that Zeppelins would have any real effect on the war, and as often as not their advent, even at home, was taken as a joke; while people flocked from their houses to see the fun, thereby running a far greater risk than they themselves imagined.

Billings happened to be on shore leave during one raid, and in the midst of a very heavy fire from the anti-aircraft guns he discovered an elderly, scantily attired, and very irate female standing in the road. She had her umbrella up to ward off stray fragments of bombs or pieces of shell, and indeed splinters from the A.A. guns were falling far too close to be pleasant. The Zeppelin, illuminated by the glare of many searchlights, and surrounded by the flashes and little puffs of smoke of exploding projectiles, was almost immediately overhead; but the woman was far too wrathful to be frightened.

''Ere, missis,' said Joshua gallantly, ''adn't you better go 'ome?'

'Go 'ome!' she retorted; 'what for?'

''Er,' said Billings, pointing at the sky.

''Er!' snorted the lady contemptuously. 'I'm not afraid of the likes of 'er.—You dirty dog!' she added angrily, shaking her fist at the invader. 'Come down, you dirty 'ound!'

The 'dirty 'ound' evinced no particular emotion.

If the German public believed the mendacious Berlin communiqués as to the damage inflicted on the hated British by their perambulating gas-bags they must have been very well pleased.

'A detachment of our naval airships visited London on the night of the 26th,' wrote Von Ananias, his tongue in his cheek. 'Several important points were attacked. At Poplar three shipbuilding yards were set on fire and completely destroyed, and a battleship in course of completion for the British navy was badly damaged. At Houndsditch a heavy battery was completely demolished, while bombs were successfully dropped on the barracks at Whitechapel, flinging the troops into a state of the utmost consternation and causing many casualties. Near Ludgate Hill a munition factory was observed to be in flames. One light cruiser and three destroyers anchored in the Thames near Gravesend were struck by bombs and sank with enormous loss of life. The inhabitants of the invaded districts are said to be petitioning the Government to stop the war, while many of them are leaving the neighbourhood. Our airships, though fired upon heavily from many points, have all returned in safety.'

No Zeppelin had been anywhere near Poplar, no battleship had been damaged, while Houndsditch was as innocent of heavy guns as Whitechapel was of soldiers. Neither was there a munition factory near Ludgate Hill; while the light cruiser and three destroyers which had foundered off Gravesend were nothing more or less than one old and empty barge sunk, and one waterman's wherry badly damaged. A more truthful account would have read as follows:

'Near X. a bomb fell into a kitchen-garden and completely overwhelmed a detachment of early lettuces and uprooted three apple-trees. A brigade of spring onions was also completely annihilated, while a regiment of tomatoes in their billets in a greenhouse suffered severe casualties. The owner of the garden is now charging threepence admission to view the damage. The proceeds will be handed over to the local Red Cross Funds, and the sum of twenty-four pounds three shillings and ninepence has already been collected. Fragments of the bomb are on view at Mr Button's shop at 45 High Street, and will be sold by auction at the next Red Cross sale.

'On the outskirts of Y. one aged donkey and four chickens were killed, while one cow, two pigs, and twenty-three fowls were wounded. A black tom-cat, which was visiting the chicken-run at the time of the raid, is also suffering from shock and nervous prostration, but is expected to recover.

'At B. a bomb exploded with terrific force in the street near the statue of the late Alderman Theophilus Buggins, J.P. This well-known work of art was hurled from its pedestal and badly shattered. It is feared it cannot be repaired.'

Truly 'tis an ill wind that blows nobody any good.

Purely from a spectacular point of view I should imagine that all Zeppelin raids are much the same. They generally seem to take place late at night or in the small hours of the morning, while their usual accompaniment is the glare of many searchlights, the barking of guns, the bursting of shell, and the dropping of bombs with or without loss of life and damage to property. The Mariner's men saw several raids; but it was the first one they witnessed which left the most lasting impression on their minds.

There had been the usual report early in the evening to the effect that Zeps might be expected; but they had been warned so often before that, beyond taking the usual precautions in regard to lights, nobody on board really paid very much attention to it. The first intimation of the arrival of the invader was the sullen report of a distant anti-aircraft gun; whereupon Wooten, always a light sleeper, rose hastily from his bunk, attired himself in a green dressing-gown and a pair of sea-boots, and repaired to the deck with his binoculars. The other officers and the men, determined not to miss their share of the entertainment, followed his example, and in less than two minutes the deck was thronged with an excited, inquisitive crowd, all peering anxiously at the sky. It was rather like a regatta or a race meeting, except that the greater proportion of the spectators were far too lightly clothed to be strictly presentable.

The long pencils of light from many searchlights streamed forth and swept slowly across the starlit heavens.

'Where is the bloomer?' some one asked impatiently, as if he were at a music-hall waiting for a new turn. 'Why don't she come?'

'She's got cold feet, an' ain't comin',' laughed another man. 'There'll be no show ter-night.'

'I think I'll go back to me 'ammick,' cried somebody else. 'I carn't git standin' abart 'ere in these 'ere clo'es. Grr! ain't it parky?' It must have been, for the speaker was simply attired in a flannel shirt. His legs were bare, and his teeth were chattering.

'There she is!' exclaimed a stoker, pointing vaguely overhead. 'See 'er?'

'That ain't 'er. That's a bloomin' cloud!'

'Garn! That ain't no cloud. Not wot I'm lookin' at.'

'Tell yer it is.'

'No, it ain't. It's 'er, right enuf!'

Further conversation was rudely interrupted by the crash of a gun from ashore, and a thin trail of dim light climbed skywards in a curve as a tracer shell[ [37] hurtled its way through the air.

More guns roared out. More trails of light in the air, rather like the sparks from the tails of rockets!

The sky to the eastward suddenly began to flash and twinkle with momentary spurts of vivid orange flame as the shell started to burst; the searchlights swung round and became stationary, with their beams all pointed at one particular spot in the heavens. But still the spectators could see nothing of the raider. Before very long all the anti-aircraft guns in the place were hard at work pumping projectiles into the atmosphere as fast as they could. Streaks of light sped upwards like the stars from a Roman candle, and presently the heavens toward the point of junction of the searchlight-rays sparkled wickedly and with redoubled energy. Puffs of smoke from the shell explosions filtered slowly through the blue-white beams of the lights; but though the gunners could obviously see what they were firing at, the men on board the Mariner had not been vouchsafed a glimpse of anything.

'Ow!' yelled some one, stamping on the deck in his excitement and impatience, 'why cawn't we see 'er? Where is she?'

'Keep yer flat feet 'orf o' me toes!' expostulated a gruff and much-injured voice. 'I ain't got no boots on. Knock orf jumpin' abart like a perishin' loonatic, carn't yer?'

The air was as full of sound as were the heavens of bursting shrapnel. Little guns and big guns were having the time of their lives. They banged, boomed, coughed, and spluttered together, and every now and then in the ear-splitting medley of sound one heard the hiccuping, deep-throated poom-poom of an anti-aircraft pom-pom, the shrill staccato ra-ta-ta-ta of a little ·303-inch high-angle Maxim, and the faint but quite unmistakable whistle and report of the shell as they clove their way through the air and exploded.

'Lord!' muttered Wooten with a laugh, his eyes glued to his glasses, 'I wonder where all the bits are coming down. We'll have to get under cover if they start loosin' off anywhere near us.'

It was a magnificent sight, quite the best fireworks display most of them had ever seen. The many searchlights made the night as light as day. The heavens were ablaze with the tell-tale sparkling flashes, while the earth seemed to vomit the fiery trails of tracer shell which crossed and recrossed in all directions. Brock's Benefit at the Crystal Palace was not in it.

Then, quite unexpectedly, there came a roaring thud from somewhere far away. Another, another, and yet another! The reports were loud and reverberating, and almost drowned the sound of the guns. They were bomb explosions, and the onlookers held their breath and glanced anxiously round to see how their neighbours were taking it. Nobody seemed unduly anxious, but some of them wondered vaguely what would happen if a missile fell on board the Mariner. Her thin decks offered no protection whatsoever, and if a bomb did hit her——

At last, after what seemed an eternity of waiting, a great, elongated, silvery-looking mass slid rapidly into view at the point of intersection of two of the searchlight-beams. It looked like an enormous hexagonal pencil suspended from the sky, and travelled with awe-inspiring sedateness and solemnity. It was the Zeppelin; but, from her size, she seemed to be at least ten thousand feet up. The searchlights followed her unremittingly. Her great bulk became indistinct and nebulous amidst wreathing eddies of smoke, while the shell-flashes seemed to be bursting out into space all round her.

'Ow!' yelled the excitable, dancing gentleman, as a particularly brilliant gout of flame flashed out immediately in line with the airship's blunt bows; 'that's got 'er! Did yer see 'er waggle?'

But shooting at a rapidly moving object high up in the air and almost immediately overhead is a much more difficult task than people imagine; and though some of the shell may have caused the Hun a certain amount of annoyance, it was tolerably certain that a good many more expended their energy in space.

But whatever the result, the raider evidently received a warmer reception than she had bargained for, for after being in sight for barely a minute she swung off and disappeared from view at a good fifty miles an hour. Whether or not she had been hit remained a mystery. Every anti-aircraft gunner in the place, even the man at the little ·303 Maxim, would have taken his solemn affidavit that missiles from his own particular weapon had hit her not once, but many times; while the Mariner's men, judging from their conversation, were of the same opinion. Some of them were even prepared to swear that they had seen gaping holes in the Zeppelin's bows, stern, and amidships—all over her, in fact; but if their accounts were to be believed their eyesight must have been abnormally abnormal, while the Zep should have come down a mass of punctured fabric and twisted aluminium framework. She had done nothing of the kind.

The guns ceased firing; one by one the searchlights flickered, glowed redly, and went out. All was peace.

The men, chattering like monkeys, sought their hammocks. Their officers repaired to the wardroom and indulged in a nocturnal orgy of sardines, bread-and-butter, and bottled stout. The mixture was hardly a good one to sleep upon, but the sardines of Jean Peneau and the stout of Messrs Guinness were the invariable concomitants to a Zeppelin raid if the Mariner was anywhere in the neighbourhood.

'I hope nobody got strafed by those bombs,' observed the sub. with his mouth full.

'I think they fell clear of the town,' said the skipper, removing the froth from a tumbler with a spoon.

They had. There had been no casualties.