accustomed
coolness. They were ready to fight anything on the face of the waters or
under them, but an enemy in the air who could rain down shells, a couple
of which were sufficient to destroy the most powerful forts in the
world, and who could not be hit back, was another matter. It was a
bitter truth, but there was no denying it. The events of the last ten
years had clearly proved that a day must come when the flying machine
would be used as an engine of war, and now that day had come--and the
fighting flying machine was in the hands of the enemy.

The anchors were torn from the ground, signals were flashed from the
flagship, the _Prince George_, and within four minutes the squadron was
under way to the south-eastward. After what had happened the Admiral in
command promptly and rightly decided that to keep his ships cramped up
in the narrow waters was only to court further disaster. His place was
now the open sea, and a general fleet action offered the only means of
preventing an occupation of almost defenceless Portsmouth, and the
landing of hostile troops in the very heart of England's southern
defences.

Fifteen first-class torpedo boats and ten destroyers ran out from the
Hampshire and Isle of Wight coasts, ran through the ships, and spread
themselves out in a wide curve ahead, and at the same time twenty
submarines crept out from the harbour and set to work laying contact
mines in the appointed fields across the harbour mouth and from shore to
shore behind the Spithead forts.

But the squadron had not steamed a mile beyond the forts before a series
of frightful disasters overtook them. First, a huge column of water rose
under the stern of the _Jupiter_. The great ship stopped and shuddered
like a stricken animal, and began to settle down stern first. Instantly
the _Mars_ and _Victorious_ which were on either side of her slowed
down, their boats splashed into the water and set to work to rescue
those who managed to get clear of the sinking ship.

But even while this was being done, the _Banshee_, the _Flying Fish_
which had destroyed the forts, had taken up her position a thousand feet
above the doomed squadron. A shell dropped upon the deck of the
_Spartiate_, almost amidships. The pink flash blazed out between her two
midship funnels. They crumpled up as if they had been made of brown
paper. The six-inch armoured casemates on either side seemed to crumble
away. The four-inch steel deck gaped and split as tho