"Seaplane, sir!" shouted one of the crew.
"Confounded nuisance!" muttered "Tough Geordie." "Get our decorations ready, lads, and look slippy about it."
Two or three of the hands prepared to unroll a couple of square pieces of canvas. These were Morpeth's "decorations," or, in other words, the vessel's "aircraft distinction discs." On one side of the canvas were painted red, white and blue concentric circles—the British hall-mark for aerial efficiency. On the reverse were black Maltese crosses on a white ground—the symbol adopted by Hun aircraft. In both cases the same device showed on the deck of a ship denoted her either as a friend or foe.
"Hun, sir!" shouted three or four voices in unison, when the rapidly approaching seaplane drew near enough for the crew of Q 171 to distinguish the Black Crosses on her wings.
"Up with 'em!" shouted Morpeth.
Dexterously "Tough Geordie's" decorations were unfolded and exhibited—one at the top of the conning-tower, the other just abaft the for'ard gun.
Right aft the gun-layer of the concealed anti-aircraft weapon kept the sights trained on the approaching Hun, ready and eager at the word of command to let fly with a novel type of shell that on bursting would entail the immediate destruction of any aircraft within a couple of hundred feet of the point of detonation.
"'Nother seaplane right astern, sir!" roared a seaman in stentorian tones.
"Confound it!" ejaculated Morpeth. "What is their little game?"
The anti-aircraft gun could have effectively silenced one seaplane, but the other would have turned and flown off to give the alarm. So impassively Q 171 held on, every man on board (except von Preugfeld and von Loringhoven, who were ignorant of what was transpiring) fervently hoping that the Hun airmen would take it for granted that she was a U-boat.