"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.