heard
rumours of a terrible new explosive they've got, too, which shatters
steel into splinters and poisons everyone within a dozen yards of it. If
that's true and they're dropping it on the forts, they'll probably smash
the guns as well. For heaven's sake, sir, let me beg of you to go back
at once to headquarters! It will probably be our turn next. You will be
safe there, for they're not likely to waste their shells on Government
buildings."

"Well, I suppose I shall be of more use there," growled Sir Compton.

At this moment the orderly returned, looking rather scared. He saluted
and said:

"If you please, sir, they've tried Portsdown and all the Hillsea forts
and can't get an answer."

"Good heavens!" said the Commander-in-Chief, "that looks almost as if
you were right, Markham. Signal to Squadron A to up-anchor at once and
telephone to Squadron B to do the same. Telephone Gilkicker to turn all
searchlights on. Now I must be off and have a talk with General
Hamilton."

He ran down to his pinnace and went away full speed for the harbour, but
before he reached the pier another flash burst out from the direction of
Fort Gilkicker, followed by a terrific roar. To those standing on the
top of Southsea Castle the fort seemed turned into a volcano, spouting
flame and clouds of smoke, in the midst of which they could see for an
instant whirling shapes, most of which would probably be the remains of
the gallant defenders, hurled into eternity before they had a chance of
firing a shot at the invaders. The huge guns roared for the first and
last time in the war, and the great projectiles plunged aimlessly among
the ships of the squadron, carrying wreck and ruin along the line.

"Our turn now, I suppose," said the Fort Commander, quietly, as he
looked up and by a chance gleam of moonlight through the breaking clouds
saw a dim grey, winged shape drift across the harbour entrance.

They were the last words he ever spoke, for the next moment the roof
crumbled under his feet, and his body was scattered in fragments through
the air, and in that moment Portsmouth had ceased to be a fortified
stronghold.

CHAPTER XI

THE TRAGEDY OF THE TWO SQUADRONS

It takes a good deal to shake the nerves of British naval officer or
seaman, but those on board the ships of the Spithead Squadron would have
been something more than human if they could have viewed the appalling
happenings of the last few terrible minutes with their