"Sure, I don't know," replied the Commander "The Commodore will have to settle that point. See, the Armadale's making for the anchorage."
Slowly, and with just sufficient way to enable her to answer to the helm, the cruiser, flying the Broad Pennant of the Commodore of the squadron, approached the deep channel through the reef. Men were in the chains, heaving the lead, but she came in with a decided assurance as if her navigating officers were well acquainted with the intricate passage. Two cables astern came the Rockhampton, followed by a destroyer, while in the rear of the procession steamed the seaplane carrier, which had already received all the members of her aerial brood.
Splendidly handled, although the bend in the approach channel was so acute that the helm had to be supplemented by reverse action of their twin propellors, the cruisers gained the inner harbour of the secret base, where they moored with ample room in the spacious land-locked basin, amidst the cheers of the men lining the lofty cliffs.
Suddenly Phil Branscombe gripped Captain Blair's arm.
"Look, sir!" he exclaimed. "On the after-bridge of the nearest cruiser. Yes, by Jove! it's old Burgoyne and our wireless merchant. They're waving to us."
"So they are, by thunder!" almost yelled the excited Old Man. "Lads! There's Burgoyne and Mostyn. Give them a loud one."
And for once not in accordance with the accepted ideas of British reserve, the survivors of the Donibristle let themselves go. Their enthusiasm was caught up by their former comrades in adversity, and the cliffs echoed and re-echoed to the stentorian cheer.