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.