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.'