om the building yards on the St Lawrence they sailed in
flotillas out past the fortifications of Spithead, _en route_ for their
respective war bases.

Great secrecy had surrounded the construction of these small but
powerful craft, and but few naval men, except those directly engaged in
the anti-submarine service, had either seen or heard much of them until
they commenced arriving at the different rendezvous.

Among the early flotillas to leave Portsmouth dockyard was one of four
ships destined for a base on the east coast of Scotland, and as these
speedy little craft raced away north the expectations of both officers
and men ran high.

It was in the early summer of 1916, and although the air was crisp, the
sea sparkled in the bright sunlight and the sky was a cloudless blue.
Only a heavy-beam sea off Flamborough Head had marred the maiden voyage,
and they were now on the last hundred miles, with the low-lying Farne
Islands fading into the mist astern. By nightfall, if the wind remained
light, they would make the Scottish port which was to form their base of
operations.

Hitherto these four brand-new little warships, all white wood, grey
paint and polished metal, had been plodding over the 600 miles of sea
from Portsmouth at what was termed "cruising speed"--a mere 10 knots.
The engines had not been opened out to "full ahead" because these
delicate pieces of mechanism needed time to settle down to their work
before it was safe to drive them to the utmost limit of speed and power,
but now that pistons and bearings had been given time to "run in" it was
considered safe for the flotilla to increase speed in order to make
harbour by nightfall.

A hoist of new, bright-coloured flags fluttered from the squat mast of
the leading ship. The steady throbbing of the engines grew suddenly to a
low staccato roar. The white waves astern rose up almost level with the
counters and clouds of fine spray blew across the decks. This rapid
movement through the sun-lit water, with the breeze of passage and the
tang of the salt sea in every breath, was exhilarating, and the spirits
of those aboard rose with the speed.

Running at nearly half-a-mile a minute, the flotilla forged northwards
through clouds of fine, stinging spray, until at a late hour, when the
sun was dipping below the horizon and the sea was a sheet of golden
light, a smoky line appeared far away to the westward. It was that
section of the Scottish coast which in future