Chapter XXVI The Guiding Light
The municipal authorities in Haddisport had for a long time past displayed great vigilance in keeping the town dark at night. The street lamps were not lighted; shopkeepers incurred penalties if they failed to keep their premises so dimly lighted that you could not distinguish the difference between butter and cheese; the tramway cars were muffled in thick curtains; on the sea-front you were liable to reprimand if you struck a match to light your pipe.
Most of the houses were lighted by electricity, and it was recognised that in the event of an imminent raid upon the town by German airships the electricity should be turned off at the power-house, where a screeching hooter would be sounded to warn the inhabitants to take cover in their basements or their garden trenches.
Many of the occupants of houses facing the sea abandoned their front rooms after sunset. Even the thickest of curtains and blinds and the most cunning lamp-shades were not always proof against some chink or slit revealing the light within, and then there was sure to be an alarming visit from the sentries patrolling the beach or the policeman on his beat, or Sea Scouts on watch duty.
“I should say the Germans had something else to do than cross the North Sea in their Zeppelins to drop bombs on a harmless town like Haddisport,” remarked Vera Redisham, one night at supper.
“They might do it for the sake of spreading panic,” observed her mother.
“Or by way of preliminary experiment before making an air raid in force upon London,” added Mark. “That’s what they’re planning, of course. They’d consider it as good as a naval victory if they could set London on fire. Hullo! what’s wrong with the electric light? I put new bulbs on only yesterday!”
The light flickered for a moment or two and then went out, plunging the room in darkness.
“The hooter’s sounding!” cried Vera. “Listen!”
“We’d better all get down into the basement,” recommended Mrs. Redisham. “You mustn’t go outside, Mark.”
She had hardly spoken when the whole house shook, the windows rattled, and the air was split by a resounding explosion.
“Ah!” shouted Mark. “Zeppelins! Zeppelins!”
Mrs. Redisham made her way down the stairs to the basement to get the servants into a place of safety.
A second bomb sounded, and then there came the firing of an anti-aircraft gun.
Mark ran up the staircase to the half landing where there was a window above the hall door, from which he could look out in the direction of the town. His sister Vera followed him.
“We’re as safe here as anywhere else,” she said in excuse for her presence. “Can you see anything?”
“I saw a flash just now,” Mark answered. “I believe it was the Zeppelin’s searchlight. Oo! did you hear that! It must have struck some building. What’s that glow of light over there? They’ve set some place on fire!”
He afterwards learnt that an incendiary bomb, aimed at the naval signal station, had fallen in a timber yard and set the stacks of wood in flames.
Vera counted ten explosions in all. Then the bomb-dropping ceased.
“They haven’t stopped long,” she sighed in relief. “I do hope nobody has been hurt. What are you looking at? Can you see the airship?”
“Yes. It’s like a big sausage high up in the air, just over St. Nicholas’ Church. Have a look!”
Mark moved aside to make room for Vera.
“I see it! I see it!” she cried. “And, oh, Mark, it’s chasing a motor-car!”
Mark peered out into the darkness and saw the brilliantly-lighted lamp of a motor flashing along the Buremouth road. The beam of the light was shed upward. The car was travelling at a tremendous pace.
“Chasing it?” said Mark. “I don’t think it’s a chase. That car is acting as a pilot—showing the airship which way to go, and where to drop its bombs! I shouldn’t wonder in the least if the man driving it were Heinrich Hilliger!”