"What, leave my home? For why? Surely you don't mean to suggest that German troops are likely to land in England?"
Terence shook his head. He scouted the idea of invasion, yet he knew there was a possibility—that a raiding squadron might visit the Norfolk coast.
"No, I was thinking of the winter coming on," he said equivocally. "You see, it's rather bleak and lonely for you here. Why not shut the house up for the next six months and go and live with Aunt Margaret?"
Mrs. Aubyn wavered. Her sister had a large house at Purbrook, a few miles from Portsmouth. It certainly would be a pleasant change to spend the winter in the south of England with her nearest relative rather than exist in solitary state in her home on the bleak East Coast.
"Besides," continued her son, taking advantage of his parent's obvious wavering, "the 'Strongbow'—that's the new name for the old 'Saraband'—is fitting out of Portsmouth, and more than likely she'll make that place here home port. In that case, whenever we put in for supplies or refit, I ought to be able to see you pretty frequently."
The explanation was a lame one. Terence knew perfectly well that on being commissioned the "Strongbow" would proceed to the North Sea for patrol-work. Her connexion with Portsmouth would then be severed. But to his satisfaction Mrs. Aubyn figuratively hauled down her colours.
A telegram was despatched to her sister, accepting a long-standing invitation, and at the expiration of his week-end leave, Sub-Lieutenant Aubyn was accompanied by his mother on his journey to Portsmouth to rejoin his ship.
Three days later the "Strongbow," looking most business-like in her garb of neutral grey, slipped unostentatiously between the old fortifications at the mouth of Portsmouth Harbour, negotiated the narrow gateway of the boom-defence, and in the pale dawn of a misty October day shaped her course for the North Sea.
She was one of perhaps a hundred vessels of whose very existence not decimal one per cent of the population of Great Britain is aware. Unless a striking success or a lamentable disaster brings them into the limelight the great British public never hear their names. Yet every one of that vast fleet of armed merchantmen was doing its duty as a unit of the greatest Navy the world has ever yet seen, nobly performing a service whereby the United Kingdom is spared the horror of the yoke-mate of war—the scourge of famine.
The "Strongbow" carried the same officers as in the days when she sailed under the Red Ensign, while in command was a full-fledged naval officer, Captain Hugh Ripponden.