"A pretty jamb in the harbour," said Terence, giving a quick glance at the maze of vessels. "Fortunately, I hear, we've several seaplanes at our disposal."
Barracombe wished his relief good-night and descended the ladder to retire to the seclusion of his cabin and sleep the sleep of exhaustion, for he had had a strenuous time before the cruiser left Devonport.
During the first hour nothing unusual occurred. The midshipman of the watch reported "Rounds all correct, sir," to which Aubyn replied with the stereotyped "Very good." Across the harbour came the faint hail of the Night Guard as the picquet boat studiously visited every vessel within the limits of the breakwater.
The masthead light of the flagship began to blink. A signalman on the "Sunderland's" bridge snatched up a slate.
"General call, sir," he announced.
Deftly the man took down the message, then hurried to the chart-room to decipher the code.
"Submarine E27 reports three hostile aeroplanes passing S.W. by W. Position eleven miles N.N.E. of North Goodwin."
The warning was a brief one, for hardly had the ship's company been called to their action stations when a faint buzzing, immediately becoming louder and louder, announced that the raiders were approaching the town and harbour of Dover.
Searchlights flashed skywards, while from beneath the old castle on the lofty chalk cliffs half a dozen intrepid British airmen ascended to meet the foe. Already the anti-aerial guns were stabbing the darkness with lurid spurts of flame, while their shells, bursting perilously close to the hostile aeroplanes, caused the calculating Teutons to think better of the attempt.
It was an easy matter to steal over an unfortified town or village and drop explosives; but for once the Germans were to learn the wisdom of discrimination. Higher and higher they banked, until catching a glimpse of the British seaplanes as they passed through the path of one of the searchlights they precipitately turned tail.