om the land may one draw a
note of warning--on shore there are visible signs of warfare. The
searchlights of the forts, wheeling over the surface of the channels,
turn on us and steady for a time in inspection. Farther inland, ghostly
shafts and lances are sweeping overhead, in ceaseless scrutiny of the
quiet sky.

At a bend in the fairway we close and speak the channel patrol steamer
and draw no disquieting impression from her answer to our hail. The port
is still open and we may proceed on our passage to join convoy at ----.
An escort will meet us in 1235 and conduct us to 5678. 'Carry on!'

It is quite dark when we round the outer buoy and reduce speed to drop
our pilot. The night is windless and a calm sea gives promise of a good
passage. We bring up close to the cutter, and, shortly, with a stout
'Good-bye,' the pilot swings overside and clambers down the long
side-ladder to his boat. We shut off all lights and steer into the
protecting gloom of the night.

[Illustration: EXAMINATION SERVICE PATROL BOARDING AN INCOMING STEAMER]

XVIII

RENDEZVOUS

ALMOST hourly they round the Point, turning in from seaward with a fine
swing and thrash of propellors to steer a careful course through the
boom defences. Screaming gulls wheel and poise and dive around them,
exulting to welcome the new-comers in, and the musical clank and rattle
of anchor cables, as the ships bring up in the Roads, mark emphatic
periods to this--the short coasting section of the voyage.

"Safe here!" sing the chains, as they link out over the open hawse.
"Thus far, anyway, in spite of fog and coast danger, of mine and
submarine," and the brown hill-side joins echo to the clamour of the
wheeling gulls, letting all know the ships have come in to join the
convoy.

The bay, that but a day ago lay broad and silent and empty, now seems to
narrow its proportions as each high-sided merchantman comes in; the
hills draw nearer with every broad hull that anchors, wind-rode, in the
blue of the bay. As if in key with the illusion, the broad expanse of
shallow, inshore water, that before gave distance to the hills, now
sheds its power, cut and furrowed as it becomes by thrash and wake of
tugs and launches all making out to serve the larger vessels.

On the high mound of the harbour-master's look-out, keen eyes note all
movements in the bay. The signal-mast and yard bear a gay setting of
flags and symbols, and rapid changes and successions show the