From the bridge of the flagship Heinrich Hilliger bent his binoculars upon his own house to seek for a signal which he failed to discover, or, rather, which was never displayed, his faithful secretary being at the time securely confined within the narrow walls of a prisoner's cell in Haddisport police-station.
Not finding the expected signal, Herr Hilliger transferred his attention to the business in hand, indicating the particular houses and buildings at which he desired the gunlayers to take especial aim: first, Green Croft, associated in his mind with the mischievous submarine commander, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, whose torpedoes had robbed the Kaiser's High Sea Fleet of at least two important ships; and then in turn the lighthouse, the parish church, the town hall, the chief hotels, the harbour, and finally the naval base, with its wireless station and battery of guns.
Mark Redisham and Lieutenant Ingoldsby, tearing in their motor-car along the deserted highroad, had heard the booming of heavy guns out at sea. The alarming sounds drew nearer and nearer, from two directions.
"They're bombarding Buremouth as well as Haddisport, sir," Mark declared, leaning forward to increase his speed.
"Faster! faster!" cried Ingoldsby. "Give her all she can do. Let her rip. But keep your head—keep cool—keep a sharp look-out!"
Mark had no need to be urged or cautioned. He had perfect control of the machine; he knew every turn and curve, every dip and rise of the road. The telegraph poles flashed by as if they had been park railings set side by side, and there was no traffic to interfere with his onward, headlong pace.
As they left Alderwick village behind, and dashed along the open highway across the moorland, the first shell from the German battleships shrieked over their heads; a second crashed into one of the houses on the esplanade; another laid the lighthouse in ruins.
In the town shells were falling thick and fast, exploding with deafening noise. In the market-place a big hotel was on fire, and the car was checked by a crowd of excited people; but Mark made his way through, sounding his hooter, and arrived without hurt at the harbour, where the submarine was waiting ready for her commander to jump aboard.
The bombardment lasted some thirty minutes. The ships, dimly visible through the mist and smoke, steamed southward abreast of the town, firing their eleven-inch shells from starboard. Then they returned and repeated the manoeuvre, firing from their port sides and ending where they had begun. It was not safe for them to continue any longer, since every moment added to the danger of their retreat being cut off by a squadron of British Dreadnoughts racing towards them in response to urgent wireless messages.
Favoured by the fog, they took to flight, the battleships leading in order to give the smaller cruisers in the rear the opportunity of dropping some hundreds of explosive mines in their wake.