"We'll stand fast for a bit," decided Seton. "It may be that it's only a patrol or a party drawing stores. It's not far from midnight now."
As he spoke a gun barked a few yards off, quickly followed by another and another, until the masonry quivered and swayed with the terrific detonations.
Both men made their way to the window, which, unaccountably, their gaolers had not closed by means of the metal shutter.
Seaward avast bank of fog—whether natural or artificial the watchers had no means of telling—was punctured by rapid and vivid flashes of light. Star-shells and search-lights illumined the sky. Shells were screeching and bursting everywhere, until the sea and sky seemed blotted out with smoke and far-flung columns of spray.
Suddenly Seton gripped his companion's arm, causing him to wince with pain, and pointed to an indistinct grey mass looming through the fog. It was a vessel, blazing away with quick-firers and heading straight for the Mole.
"Thank God for that sight!" ejaculated Alec fervently. "This is the beginning of St. George's Day with a vengeance."
CHAPTER XIII
The Attack on the Mole
"It all depends upon the weather," remarked Lieutenant-Commander Farnborough. "This is absolutely the best we've had, and our third attempt—three for luck."
It was a quarter to five on the afternoon of Monday, the 22nd of April. The main force of the vessels operating against Zeebrugge and Ostend were on the point of starting from the concentration base, upon their hazardous enterprise.