A Sub. of the R.N.R.: A Story of the Great War

by Percy F. Westerman

CHAPTER XIII.

THE RAID ON SCARBOROUGH.

"My watch, by Jove!" ejaculated Aubyn. "What in the name of goodness am I doing in my bunk at this time of the morning?"

He sprang out of bed with his customary alacrity, only to find his knees give way under him. Then it gradually dawned upon him that his last fully conscious moments were whilst he was in the flooded magazine.

"Steady, old man!" he muttered reproachfully. "This won't do. Pull yourself together."

He began to dress, rummaging for his clothes in one of the characteristically awkwardly placed drawers under his bunk. The garments he had worn the previous day had been taken away to be dried. Then he remembered the fate of his great-coat and wondered what he should do without it when on the bridge.

He glanced through the scuttle. The sea was still running high. Flakes of snow, scudding before the wind, were falling rapidly. By the motion of the water as it slipped past the ship's side he knew that the "Strongbow" was still going sternforemost.

The door of his cabin opened noiselessly, and Raeburn entered.

"Here, this won't do, old fellow!" exclaimed the assistant engineer. "You toddle off back to your bunk again. Pills will be on your collar if you don't."

"What silly idiot made the doctor look me up?" asked Terence.

"Don't call yourself ugly names," protested Raeburn laughingly. "Since you chose to have a cold bath and stay there till your nose was as blue as a dungaree suit, and you looked liked a favourite for the Triple Pneumonia Stakes, it isn't to be wondered at that Pills had to have a chip in. But honestly, old man, you turn in, or it will be a case for the sick bay. By Jove, you did a rattling plucky thing!"

Terence abruptly silenced his chum.

"Rot!" he exclaimed. "I spoilt my only great-coat. If I'm to be crocked every time I do a little job like that, the sooner I chuck the Service the better. I'm off."

Ignoring Raeburn's threats to call the surgeon, Terence hurried from his cabin, and having borrowed a pilot coat, donned his oilskins over the borrowed garment and went on deck.

It was a weird sight which met his gaze.

The "Strongbow" was in the grip of a North Sea blizzard. Her tapering masts, funnels, ventilators, even shrouds and ropes, were outlined in glistening snow. Owing to the extreme danger of men being overthrown by the slippery state of the frozen snow underfoot, men were busily engaged in sweeping the decks—an apparently interminable task, as the flakes fell quickly and heavily.

Unnoticed Aubyn gained the foot of the bridge-ladder. The ascent caused him considerable effort. In spite of his natural activity the prospect of a "trick" on the exposed bridge in that awful weather damped his enthusiasm. Mr. Lymore was on duty. His back was turned towards the sub. Before Terence could report himself the door of the chart room was opened and Captain Ripponden appeared.

"Good morning, Mr. Aubyn," exclaimed the latter, returning the sub.'s salute. "I am rather surprised to find you here."

"It's my watch, sir."

"It would have been," corrected the captain. "Dr. Terry reported you unfit for duty, and I must abide by his decision. So you will report yourself to him."

"Very good, sir," said Terence.

"And," continued Ripponden, "allow me to congratulate you on your plucky action. I will take the first opportunity of transmitting an account of it to My Lords for their information."

Aubyn grasped the captain's extended hand. Completely taken aback by his superior's congratulations he could not frame a reply.

Again saluting, Terence turned to leave the bridge. As he did so a roar of cheering burst from those on deck. Those of the crew who had witnessed the meeting between Captain Ripponden and the plucky sub. had rightly interpreted the "owner's" action. There are moments when spontaneous enthusiasm ignores the dictates of discipline, and this was one of them. The men of the "Strongbow" cheered their young officer to the echo.

Terence Aubyn met with a boisterous reception in the gun-room. His brother officers "chipped" him unmercifully on the subject of the tribute of the crew. The sub. took it all in good part. He realized that underneath the outward mask of levity was a substratum of genuine admiration for his courage and judgment in tackling the leak. Even the dangers through which they had so recently passed failed to subdue the exuberant spirits of the denizens of the gun-room, and entering into the fun, Terence soon felt so much better that Dr. Terry was obliged to confess that his fears for the sub.'s health was no longer justified.

Before dusk the same day two tugs put out from Aberdeen and took the "Strongbow" in tow. Three hours later she was safely docked, and for the first time for many a long day the "watch below" were able to turn in without being confronted by the possibility of sudden death in the mine-strewn waters of the North Sea.

Examination proved that the damage done to the ship was considerable. Practically the whole of the bow portion would have to be re-built, while in many places the hull-plating would have to be re-fastened and re-caulked. Internal damage caused by the concussion was also great. By dint of working day and night the shipbuilders might be able to effect repairs in a month's time.

The next day leave was given to the starboard watch. Officers and men were, by the special consent of the Admiralty, granted seven days' leave. Meanwhile, arrangements were being made to turn over the ship's company to another vessel until repairs to the "Strongbow" were carried out.

The temporary substitute—the armed merchant-man "Vindex"—was lying at Leith. Being of considerably lesser tonnage than the "Strongbow" there was no necessity for the whole of the latter's crew to man her. With mixed feelings Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn found that he was appointed to H.M.S. "Terrier" as supernumerary.

He was sorry to part company with his old messmates, even for a comparatively brief period. Having won praise from his captain, possessed of the friendship and esteem of his brother-officers, and well liked by the lower deck, he felt a mental wrench at having to say good-bye even for a few weeks.

On the other hand, his appointment to the "Terrier" was after his own heart, for the ship was a regular unit of the British Navy. She was, it is true, an obsolete craft—a torpedo-gunboat of only 800 tons and a speed of nineteen knots.

Built more than twenty years previously, the "Terrier's" original rôle had long since been usurped by the "destroyer" class. In later years she had been employed as a fishery-protection cruiser, until at the outbreak of war she had been hastily re-fitted and commissioned as a mine-sweeper patrol-boat.

The "Terrier," undergoing engine repairs, was still detained at Newcastle, whither Terence proceeded to join her.

"I hear you've been done out of your leave," was the remark of the "Terrier's" captain, a tall, slimly built man, who looked about Terence's age, although he must have been some years his senior in order to have attained the rank of lieutenant-commander. "We won't be out of dockyard hands for another week, so if you like you can go ashore and report yourself on Saturday."

"Can I be spared, sir?"

"A more favourable opportunity may not occur again for some time," replied Captain Holloway. "Lying alongside a dirty wharf with the coal-dust flying into the officers' cabins all day doesn't make life aboard very attractive. I'm in shore quarters myself until we're ready to proceed to sea; so under the circumstances you will be wise to take advantage of a few days' leave."

The sub. thanked his captain for his consideration, and having given orders for his gear to be placed in his cabin, proceeded to pack a small portmanteau with articles absolutely necessary for his well-earned holiday. While he was so doing he rapidly debated with himself as to where he intended to go. According to the King's Regulations he was bound to leave his address in the event of being telegraphed to rejoin his ship. The limited time at his disposal, coupled with the idea of the expense of a first-class railway ticket to the South of England, did not permit a visit to his mother. He had no friends in Newcastle, and he was not at all desirous of putting up at an hotel in that city.

Then he remembered Waynsford's invitation to look him up if he happened to be within easy distance of Scarborough.

"Somewhat of the nature of a busman's holiday," he mused, as he wrote his proposed address in the leave-book: "R.M.B.R. 'Lonette,' Scarborough."

Dick Waynsford, apprised by telegraph, was on the station platform to greet him.

"Glad you're come, old man," he exclaimed. "Anything to buck a fellow up?"

"Why, what's wrong now?" asked Terence.

"Nothing in particular; only I'm getting thoroughly fed up in this place. Nothing much to do but to run errands to the mine-sweepers that occasionally put into the bay. A fisherman could do the job equally as well as I can. You've been having an exciting time, I hear?"

"Somewhat," replied Aubyn modestly. "Now, let's be making a move."

The two chums jumped into a waiting taxi, Waynsford giving the chauffeur directions to drive as straight as he jolly well knew how to Sandside, and not to take them half-way round the town to get there.

"'Sandside'—that sounds all right," thought Terence, but his expectations were unrealized as the taxi drew up in the rather dingy quarter of Scarborough adjoining the harbour.

"There she is," announced Waynsford, pointing to the grey hull of the "Lonette," which, barely water-borne, was reclining against the lofty wall of the harbour. "One of the best runs I ever had in her was when we brought her round from Yarmouth."

"Why, she's hard and fast aground."

"M'yes," agreed Waynsford unconcernedly. "She spends most of her time like that, It's all right sleeping on board, unless she happens to take a list the wrong way. Then you've got to sort yourselves out of a horrible muddle on the cabin floor."

"What if you're wanted?" enquired Aubyn.

"We have to jolly well wait till she floats," answered his chum, with a grin. "It's a quiet berth, and heaps better than rolling all night in the open bay. We had one taste of it—nearly upset the whole crowd of us. Mind that ladder: it's horribly slippery."

Waynsford indicated a perpendicular iron ladder, its lowermost end hidden in black mud, over which the rising tide was slowly advancing.

Throwing his portmanteau to one of the crew, who, as the result of long practice, deftly caught the heavy article, Terence descended the fifteen feet of ladder and stepped across the intervening space between the water and the motor-boat's quarter.

"Here's your bunk," announced Waynsford, pointing to a cot swung against the side of the bin. "Nalder, my opposite number, sleeps on the port bunk."

"How about you?" asked Terence.

"I'm going to turn in on the floor for the next few nights," replied Waynsford. "I'm used to it. You see, we've another boat for actual duty purposes in fine weather. She's smaller and handier. We use 'Lonette' mostly as a kind of parent ship. Now, I'll get the boy to bring the grub in. Fire away and let's have all the news."

During the rest of the day while daylight lasted Waynsford piloted his chum round the Queen of Watering Places, taking him up to the ruined castle and introducing him to some officers of Kitchener's Army whose acquaintance he had recently made.

"Jolly decent place in the summer, I should imagine," declared Waynsford, as the chums wended their way back to the harbour. "But deadly dull now. Not a light to be seen after dark. It makes one almost wish that the Germans would pay the place a visit, if only to make things a little more lively."

"Eh, what's that?" inquired Terence.

"Only wishing for the impossible, my dear fellow. Being an unfortified town Scarborough will not be favoured with the attentions of the Teutons. Apart from that they won't risk another raid. They're too wary of our fleet."

It was quite late in the night before the officers of the "Lonette" turned in. The crew detailed for the duty boat had departed, their "trick" commencing at midnight. Quietude settled upon the almost lifeless harbour. Most of the fishing fleet that still remained at its usual work were out. Five or six of the boats, locked up for the night, were moored in the inner harbour. Three more, preparing to leave at high water, were tied up to buoys at the entrance to the outer basin, their crews working silently as if infected by the solitude that overspread the once busy port.

Suddenly Terence was awakened by finding himself slipping from his bunk. In the darkness, for the moment, unable to recall his surroundings, he imagined himself back in the old "Strongbow," and that the vessel was rolling badly. But quickly he discovered that the movement was different; there was no recovery. He felt his bunk list more and more, until vainly endeavouring to hold himself in, he subsided upon the still soundly sleeping Waynsford.

"Confound it!" exclaimed that worthy. "She's heeled outwards. I thought we'd taken proper precautions. Sorry to disturb you, old man."

"It's a case of my disturbing you, I fancy," replied Terence, after he had extricated himself from the pile of blankets and cushions. "I don't mind, if you don't. There goes the crockery," he added, as a series of crashes came from the fo'c'sle.

Striking a match Waynsford lit the cabin lamp and glanced at the bulkhead clock.

"Seven, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "It's close on low water. In another two hours we'll be afloat again. No use attempting to turn in. Nalder, you lazy bounder, get up and join in a hand of dummy whist."

Sub-Lieutenant Nalder, who being in the port cot had been wedged between the bunk cushions and those on the side, was sleeping unconcernedly throughout the racket, as if such happenings were quite in the usual order of things. Aroused by Waynsford's voice and a hearty slap on the back, he sat up.

"Right-o," he agreed. "Jones!"

"Sir!" replied a muffled voice from the fo'c'sle.

"Bring me my pack of cards, will you?"

Terence heard the unmistakable sounds of someone trying to open a jammed door. Then, after a moment's delay the fo'c'sle sliding door was thrust open and the seaman thrust his dishevelled head into the cabin.

"Sorry, sir," he reported, "but the blessed condensed milk has gone and upset itself all over the pack."

"That's kippered our game," remarked Waynsford. "Let's turn out and see what it's like. A stretch before breakfast will do us good."

Donning their great-coats, the three officers contrived, without mishap, to leap from the heeling side of the motor-boat to the rungs of the ladder.

"Beastly foggy morning," declared Nalder.

"Just getting light enough to see," added Waynsford, as, in contradiction to his statement, he stumbled and almost fell over a mooring rope.

Gradually the gaunt outlines of the ruined castle that towered high above the harbour began to grow distinct against the grey sky. The fog began to disperse, although the cliffs to the southern end of the town were still invisible.

"Let's stroll up to the castle," suggested Waynsford. "It will be something to do."

Acting upon this proposal the two ascended the stony path. As they approached the coastguard station they noticed that the signalman was peering seawards through a telescope. The man was so intent upon some objects out to sea that he paid no attention to the new-comers.

Presently the coastguardsman put down his telescope and seized the mouthpiece of a telephone in the signal hut. Terence could hear him speaking distinctly.

"Strange vessels approaching from the nor'ard, sir," he reported to the officer at the Naval Wireless Station behind the town. "I've signalled them, but they won't pay any attention."

The three subs. gazed seawards. Just visible through the haze were four cruisers, moving sufficiently fast through the leaden-coloured water to cause the foam to froth at their bows. Even as they looked the young officers were mildly surprised to see a spurt of dull red flame burst from the for'ard turret of the leading vessel.

Mild surprise gave place to complete astonishment as a heavy shell hurtled overhead, carrying away several of the telegraph wires, and plunged with a terrific detonation into the fortunately unoccupied barracks on the Castle Hill.

Before the noise of the falling brickwork and masonry had subsided the devoted coastguardsman could be heard shouting on the telephone:—

"They're German cruisers: they're shelling us."

The man had done his duty. He could do no more good remaining where he was. At a quick double he tore for safety, shouting to the young officers to get under cover.

Aubyn, with his companions, quickly took this advice to heart. He had in the action between the "Saraband" and the "Osnabruck" stood up to the hostile fire, but then it was a fight on even terms. Now it was a one-sided affair, and by the noise of the exploding shell Terence knew that it was of much larger calibre than those that came from the German armed liner.

Scarcely had the fugitives covered a hundred yards when another appalling crash, followed by a distinct blast of acrid-smelling air, caused Terence to look back. A shell, better aimed than the first, had completely demolished the signal hut. This missile was followed by salvo after salvo, some forty shells of various calibre raining on the Castle Hill. Others, striking the sheer cliffs, brought tons of rock clattering down upon the Marine Parade, while what was far worse, many projectiles skimming the ruins of the castle, fell with disastrous results upon the congested buildings of the town.

The three subs. were now under the lee of the frowning rock. Here they were comparatively safe, except from stray fragments of splintered shell and flying masonry. The coastguardsman had gone in a different direction.

"The swine!" ejaculated Nalder. "They're shelling a defenceless town. And the 'Lonette' is high and dry too."

In spite of the serious situation his comrades gave vent to a hearty laugh. It seemed so incongruous that Nalder should have taken the plight of the little motor-boat into consideration. Yet had Nalder had his way it was quite possible that he would have blazed away with a rifle at the huge steel monsters with as much result as a small boy using a peashooter against an elephant.

"Not a bad idea getting down to the harbour," added Waynsford. "We'll be fairly sheltered, and we can see what's going on."

Terence thought otherwise. Massive stone walls afford no protection from monster guns. Nevertheless he raised no objection. For one thing—and here the professional sailor scored heavily over the two amateurs—it afforded a chance of making a note of the appearance of the hostile vessels: information that might prove of immense service to the Admiralty.

Shells were raining upon the undefended town as the three reached the harbour pier. In several parts of Scarborough fires, caused by the exploding projectiles, had broken out, and dense columns of smoke rose from the demolished buildings. Having, as they thought, completely demolished the supposed batteries on Castle Hill the German gunners were out to do as much damage to private property as they possibly could. It was but a phase in the terrorizing operations that these modern barbarians delight in calling "kultur."

The attacking craft had now passed in front of the Castle Hill and were clearly visible from the harbour, as they slowly steamed within a quarter of a mile of the shore, vomiting death and destruction upon the hapless town.

The leading craft Terence recognized as one of the Derfflinger Class—an inferior imitation of our Dreadnought cruisers. Astern of her came the "Bluecher," a vessel whose construction the German people hailed with acclamation as the most powerful craft afloat and one that would outclass anything that the British had or would be likely to have. Yet, ere the "Bluecher" took the water, she was hopelessly outmatched by the "Indomitable" class.

For once, however, these two ships were having things all their own way. With the exception of the fiasco at Yarmouth, over a hundred years had elapsed since the thunder of an enemy's guns had been heard by the dwellers of our sea-girt island. British pride in the impregnable position of our insular kingdom had received a nasty shock, for without let or hindrance German guns were pounding her shores in broad daylight.

Half a mile or so behind the battle cruisers were two light cruisers, which apparently took little part in the one-sided engagement. They were engaged in the pleasant occupation of mine-laying, in the hope that one of the British squadrons, summoned by wireless, would flounder blindly into the dangerous zone.

"Oh, for a couple of our submarines!" groaned Terence, as the hostile craft moved slowly along the bay. "They'd bag the whole crowd of them."

Twenty paces from the spot where the subs. stood was an old bronzed and bearded fisherman—a typical Yorkshire salt. Heedless of the risk he ran, he leapt upon the stone parapet, and shaking his fist at the German ships rated them in the choicest language of the Shire of Broad Acres. Nor would he descend when Aubyn pointed out the risk he ran, and it was only when a shell tore a huge hole in the side of the lighthouse that the old fellow would deign to move.

For a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes the two cruisers maintained a hot fire with their starboard guns. Then came a pause in the hitherto ceaseless roar of the ordnance, as the ships circled to port. Retracing their course they reopened fire, till, gradually increasing speed, they shaped a course nor'nor'east and disappeared in the haze.

"Let's gie into town an see t' damage," suggested the old fisherman, who, like the rest of the hardy East Coast men, had little respect for rank and persons. "Sith'a, lads, there'll be work for us over yonder," and he pointed to the maze of houses, many of which showed signs of the effect of the high-explosive shells.

In the course of his sea-service Terence Aubyn had witnessed more than one horrible sight; but in all his previous experience he had never seen anything approaching the cold-blooded butchery of mere civilians—men, women, and children—by the murderous German shells.

With the energy and coolness that is characteristic of the born seaman he dashed into a practically gutted house, whence cries of pain had attracted his attention.

The house was in one of the poorer districts, substantially built of stone, as is frequently the case in the north of England. A projectile had struck the building just above the ground-floor window. The stonework had, for the most part, resisted the explosion, the force of which had resulted in floors and roofs being either demolished or reduced to a state of absolute insecurity. The ground floors were piled high with débris, under which, though partly visible, was the dead body of an old man.

The cries for aid, uttered in a childish voice, came from the upper storey. Here a part of the bedroom floor had collapsed, exposing to view a wooden bedstead, so insecurely perched that it threatened at every moment to topple over into the chaotic mass thirty feet below. The stairs had vanished, only the iron handrail and a few of its supports remaining.

"What's the move?" demanded Waynsford, as Aubyn threw off his great-coat and handed it to a boy who was watching the scene of desolation with marked curiosity. "Don't be a fool, man! Wait till they bring a ladder."

"It may be too late then," replied Terence; then turning to the old fisherman he bade him bring a coil of rope.

"Thank goodness, there's one man who knows what he is about," thought Aubyn, as the veteran salt hurried off. "No stopping to ask what size or what length."

The next instant the sub. was well on his hazardous climb. Grasping the handrail and making fairly certain that it would bear his weight, Terence hauled himself up, using the holes in the stonework, left by the dislodged stairs, as footholds. As sure-footed as a cat, as active as a panther, he swung himself up, hardly pausing till he gained the uppermost landing, where a few square inches of floorboards remained. Between that and the bedstead was a gap nearly ten feet in width. A professional long-jumper might have essayed the task with success, but in his case Terence realized that a leap would be out of the question.

Rapidly the sub. reviewed the situation. From where he stood he could see the children distinctly. One was a girl of about nine years of age, fair-haired and pale-faced. It was she who was screaming, more with fright than pain, although there was a dark moist patch upon her hair. Her companion was a child of about three, lying with his head over the side of the bed to all appearances either dead or else unconscious.

Already the joist nearest the gap in the shattered floor was bending ominously. Terence felt certain that even if he could get across the intervening space his weight would precipitate the bed and its occupants on to the mound of rubble and broken woodwork below.

He looked above him. The laths and plaster of the ceiling had vanished, the tiles had been blown into the street, leaving the gaunt rafters practically intact. Raising his hand he found that he could just grasp the sloping timber.

"If it carries away, I'm done," he thought. "But it's no use hanging on here, so here goes."

With a resolute leap the sub. seized the two adjoining rafters. The rough woodwork lacerated his hands, but he heeded it not. By sheer muscular effort he raised himself sufficiently to pass his arms over the timber, whence it was a comparatively simple matter to clamber on top of the outside wall.

Well it was that Aubyn had a good head for heights. Looking down from that precarious perch would make most landsmen giddy, but as coolly as if he were walking along a street, the sub. made his way round to the opposite side of the shattered house immediately over the still holding floor of the bedroom.

The elder child, on seeing Terence approach, had ceased her cries and was watching him with wide-open eyes. Then she raised herself, as if to make a spring into his arms.

"Don't move just yet," exclaimed the sub. as calmly as he could. "I'll help you both very soon."

He was desperately anxious lest the girl, by her action, would bring about the calamity he was trying to prevent. At the same time he was racking his brains to find out how he could get hold of the rope when the fisherman returned with it.

"Eh, little lass," he exclaimed, imitating to the best of his ability the East Riding dialect, "just you hand me up one of those sheets. Don't hurry."

The girl obeyed, wonderingly but unhesitatingly. Terence began to tear the cotton sheet into thin strips, binding them into one continuous length, until he judged that he had sufficient to reach the ground.

[Illustration: "'Don't move just yet,' said the Sub. 'I'll help you both very soon.'">[

Hardly were his preparations completed when the fisherman returned, puffing and blowing with his exertions.

"Eh, lad, a've got 'en," he announced. "An' a block as well. Th' knows it might come in handy.

"Good man!" thought Terence. "He's solved an awkward problem." Then addressing the old salt: "Stand by and bend the rope on to this," he shouted, as he allowed one end of the cotton strip to flutter to the ground.

Steadily the sub. began to haul in his flimsy line, while the fisherman dexterously paid out the coil of rope, the end of which he had made to Aubyn's means of communication. Then, as soon as he saw that Terence had secured one end of the rope, the old man hitched on the large pulley and continued to pay out more cordage until the block was within the sub.'s grasp.

Whipping out his knife Terence cut off about six or seven feet of rope, using the severed portion as a strop to make fast the block to a pair of rafters. Then passing the rest of the rope through the sheave his means of effecting the rescue of the children were ready for service.

"Stand by to lower away," he shouted, as he made a loop known as a "bowline on a bight."

"Ay, ay," replied the old salt, at the same time signing to Waynsford and Nalder to bear a hand.

Giving a final tug at the strop to make sure as far as possible that the rafter would hold, Terence slid into the loop and swung himself clear of the wall.

"Belay there," he hailed after being lowered a sufficient distance to bring himself level with the remains of the bedroom floor. "Now, little lass, I'll hold you. Don't be afraid."

The next moment the injured girl was safe in his arms. Although the bed shook as the rescued child moved, it still withstood the tendency to slip into the abyss. Twenty seconds later Terence handed his charge over to a doctor who formed one of the rapidly-gathering crowd in the street.

"There's another child—a baby," announced Aubyn. "Badly hurt, I fancy so haul me up smartly."

Spinning round and round like a joint on a meat-jack the sub. again ascended, till the smaller child's body was within reach of his arms. As he whipped off the covering he gave an ill-suppressed exclamation of horror. The left foot of the little victim had been torn away at the ankle.

"Good heavens, Waynsford!" exclaimed Terence, after the child-victims had been removed, and the justly-exasperated crowd began to disperse. "I'm not a vindictive fellow, but if I had that low-down German who gave orders for this butchery, it would give me the greatest pleasure in the world to punch his head."

"You may have the chance yet," replied Waynsford. He had been thinking deeply for the last few moments. "I'm afraid I'm on the wrong lay. Here I am, wearing His Majesty's uniform, fooling about in a rotten little motor-boat, when I ought to be taking a man's part out there," and he pointed towards the North Sea."

"You haven't done badly, when you come to think of it," remarked Terence. "At Yarmouth, for instance."

"A beastly fluke. You, my dear fellow, had most of the game then."

"Buck up!" exclaimed Aubyn cheerily. "You may have a good sniff-in yet. If you don't, remember there's some verse about people serving who only sit and wait. I'm not fond of poetry myself, but perhaps you may know the line I refer to. Let's make a move. There may be more work for us amongst the ruins."

"May I coom along wi' tha', maaster?" asked the fisherman, who was coiling away the rope that had been so instrumental. "Eh, lad, thou'rt real champion."

"By all means," replied the sub. heartily. In spite of his years the old fellow had his wits about him. If there should be any work of a similar nature his assistance would be most valuable.

Before they had gone fifty yards the attention of Aubyn and his party was attracted by the sudden appearance of an elderly corpulent man whose garments consisted of a pyjama suit, over which he wore a woman's jacket with the sleeves tied round his throat, an old pair of carpet slippers and a felt hat. He had just emerged from a cellar, into which he had bolted during the earlier stages of the bombardment. Blinking like an owl he asked plaintively if the danger was at an end.

"Eh, maaster," replied the fisherman. "They kind and humane Germans sheered off half an hour agone."

"It's disgraceful!" exclaimed the dishevelled man vehemently. "Didn't the First Lord of the Admiralty tell us plainly, only a few months ago, that we could sleep quietly in our beds? Weren't those his exact words?"

"Ay," replied the old salt, with a grim twinkle in his eye. "Ay, that a' did. Th' knows the Huns gave us a look up at a time when most folks ought to be up an' about. Naw, get you gone, friend Thomas; thou'rt not fit to be seen in a respectable town like Scarbro'."

Terence looked inquiringly at his humble friend, as the pyjama-clad man waddled away.

"He'll be one o' those fools as oratates on t' parade on Sundays afternoons," explained the fisherman.

"I knows him well. Always was trying to make us believe that those Huns were our best friends, and that there weren't no use for a British Navy. Th' knows t' sort. For one reason, sith'a, I'm not sorry that those Germans came to Scarbro'."