Dreadnoughts of the Dogger: A Story of the War on the North Sea

WHAT'S BRED IN THE BONE.

The Scoutmaster paused in his work of opening a tin of condensed milk on the top of a packing-case. Glancing upwards to the shoulder of the cliff, he caught sight of a figure partly concealed beyond a dark clump of gorse and bramble. He could see the shining brass tube of a telescope beneath a naval cap. The telescope was levelled at the slate-grey shape of a light cruiser riding at anchor in Haddisport Roads, abreast of the camp.

"Your brother's out early, Redisham," said the Scoutmaster, turning again to the milk tin. "I hope he'll come down to us. I expect he can tell us a lot about that cruiser out there. He looks well in his cadet's uniform!"

Mark Redisham was bending over the fire, frying eggs and bacon. Some of his companions were in the tent, dressing after their morning swim, while others of the patrol were variously occupied in preparing the camp breakfast.

"Yes, sir," he answered. "Lucky chap, isn't he? I envy him being in the navy. And he's more than a cadet now, Mr. Bilverstone. He's a full-fledged midshipman--or soon will be, when he steps aboard his ship."

One of the Sea Scouts near to him, a tall, loose-limbed youth with a budding moustache, stood watching the lithe young fellow in naval uniform, now approaching with his telescope under his arm.

"Lucky?" he repeated with a sneer. "I don't see where the luck comes in. I don't envy him."

"Indeed!" said Mark. "You don't envy a chap who is going to be an officer in the British Navy? Why? Oh, but I was forgetting----"

Most of the Sea Scouts in the Lion Patrol were in the habit of overlooking the fact that Max Hilliger was not British. He had been amongst them so long, first as a playfellow, then as a Scout, that they had almost come to think of him as a native of Haddisport. In reality, he was a German, his father, Heinrich Hilliger, being German Vice-Consul in the port, as well as a wealthy fish merchant, doing a big business with Germany.

"Why?" Max repeated, shrugging his shoulders. "It isn't good enough. You fellows are always boasting about your British Navy, as if it were the only fleet on the seas. You seem to forget that Germany has a navy as good, if not better." He laughed derisively. "You'll discover your mistake if Germany and England come to grips. Your boasted navy'll be licked into a cocked hat. Half your cruisers are only fit to be scrapped. Those that are not obsolete couldn't hold their own against the Kaiser's High Sea Fleet."

Here a diversion was caused by the arrival of Midshipman Rodney Redisham, who shook hands with Mr. Bilverstone, and nodded recognition to such of the patrol as he remembered.

"You've grown, Catchpole," he said to one, "and you, too, Quester. Hullo, Max, you here? You've changed since we met last."

"Max has just been arguing that the Kaiser's Fleet is better than ours," remarked the Scout master.

"Germany has some jolly good fighting ships," acknowledged the midshipman; "but I believe our guns have a longer range, and, of course, we've got more ships."

Max Hilliger seemed disposed to dispute the point, but at that moment there came to the sharp ears of the Scouts a peculiar buzzing sound from beyond the houses on the cliff. All eyes were turned expectantly skyward in the one direction. Presently an aeroplane appeared above the trees, and, sinking rapidly, skimmed the level ground of the denes, and alighted like a great bird on a patch of grass within fifty yards of the camp.

At a word from Mr. Bilverstone, two of the Scouts ran forward; but they had hardly reached the machine before the pilot had leapt to his feet.

"Don't handle anything, boys," he said, pushing his goggles up over his forehead. "She's all right. But I see there's a crowd of people on the cliff. They'll be coming down to nose around. Keep guard here, while I step along to your camp and get some warmth into me."

Rodney Redisham strode forward to meet him, and, seeing the two gold stripes on his sleeve, greeted him with a very formal naval salute.

"Why, it's Lieutenant Aldiss!" he cried. "Where have you come from, sir?"

"Dover," returned the officer. "And what are you doing here? Why aren't you in your ship? Any news?"

"News?" Redisham repeated. "Do you mean about the ultimatum to Germany?"

"Yes, of course. Is it to be war?"

"I don't know. It looks precious like it. But we haven't heard yet."

"It's beastly cold up there this morning," said the lieutenant, indicating the sky. "Have these Scouts got any hot coffee? Ah, I see one of them is fetching some. That's nice."

"But won't you come up to my home and have a proper breakfast, sir?" Rodney invited. "It's that red house with the tower, on the cliff."

Lieutenant Aldiss shook his head.

"Thank you, but I'm due at Buremouth at eight o'clock," he explained, and, taking the steaming cup which Max Hilliger had brought to him, he added: "So you're appointed to the Atreus, out there, are you?"

Rodney looked across at the grey-painted cruiser.

"Yes," he answered proudly, "I am to join to-day."

In the meantime a crowd was gathering around the aeroplane, eager to see it start on its renewed flight. A police-constable was approaching hurriedly down the slope of the cliff, no doubt with the intention of keeping off the curious crowd. As he came near to the camp, Rodney Redisham called out to him:

"Any news, Challis?"

"News, sir," responded Constable Challis, producing a journal from the front of his tunic, "I should just think so. Look here!" He opened the newspaper. "England has declared war," he announced.

Lieutenant Aldiss gave a quick glance at the prominently printed lines, handed his empty cup to Hilliger, and, swinging round, made a bee-line for his aeroplane, accompanied by Rodney Redisham, who helped him to start.

"Yes," continued Constable Challis, excitedly, "it's war--war against Germany--war to the knife. We're going to be put to the test. It'll be tough while it lasts. But you can take it from me, we shall win. We shall sweep the Germans off the face of the seas, and make an end of 'em!"

"Not a bit of it!" cried Max Hilliger exultantly. "It will be the other way about. Ha, ha! England's done for now! She's doomed. Every cockboat in her rotten fleet will be sent to the bottom. D'you hear? She's doomed! She'll be smashed--smashed like that!"

He dashed the empty cup in fury to the ground. There was a hearty burst of laughter, for the cup fell upon the soft sand and was not even cracked. Enraged at the failure of his illustration, and the laughter which seemed to mock him, Max snatched his Sea Scout's cap from his head and deliberately flung it full into the face of Mark Redisham.

Mark caught it with a quickly uplifted hand, and politely offered it back to him.

"Don't make a silly ass of yourself," he smiled, "even if you have become our enemy."

But instead of taking it, Hilliger turned away, strode sullenly to his bicycle, mounted it, and rode off in the direction of the town and the harbour.