flame leapt from their mouths and were
followed by sharp reports. A few minutes of heavy firing and the nose of
the monster appeared to sag.

The men at the guns yelled exultantly, redoubling their efforts, and
shell after shell went shrieking heavenwards. Suddenly the sea around
rose up in huge cascades of foam and a shattering roar, which completely
dwarfed the voice of the guns, shook the small ship from stem to stern.
Everything movable was hurled across the deck. Breaking glass flew in
all directions, and the aerials at the mast-heads snapped and came
tumbling down with a mass of other gear. The cries of injured men arose
from different parts of the ship, but still the guns hurled their
shells, and the zeppelin, now well down by the head, rose high into the
upper air and made off eastwards. After dropping all her bombs in close
proximity to the armed trawler she had lightened herself sufficiently to
rise out of range, but whether or not she would be able to keep up
sufficiently long to reach her base, over 300 miles distant, was
extremely doubtful.

Flames spurted from the short funnel of the patrol as she steamed at
full speed after the retreating zeppelin, endeavouring to keep her
within range as long as possible. It was a question of seconds. Before
she finally disappeared in the increasing darkness another long-range
hit was observed and the zeppelin receded from view, drifting
helplessly.

The disappointment at not being able to give the _coup de grace_ to the
aerial destroyer was keenly felt by all on board, for a half success is
of little account in the navy. The gunners had done magnificently, the
ship had been manoeuvred correctly and four of the crew had been
wounded by fragments from the bombs dropped _en masse_, but
notwithstanding their exertions and the luck which had brought the
zeppelin down from the security of the skies, they had failed to secure
the prize legitimately theirs. That the attack on the fishing fleet had
been successfully beaten off appeared a minor detail, and the voyage
back to port in the quickening light of a beautiful summer morning was a
sad pilgrimage. Scarcely a word unnecessary for the working of the ship
was spoken, except Lieutenant Smith's brief explanation that it was just
his luck.

. . . . . . . .

About two weeks later the proverbially "unlucky Smith" was ordered to
report at the office of the Admiral Commanding, and