em--and then with his searchlight
Erskine signalled to the transports in the International Code, which is
universally understood at sea:

"Transports steam quarter speed into harbour and surrender. If a
shot is fired shall sink you as others."

Five of the six flags came down with a run and all save one of the
transports made slowly for the harbour. Their commanders were wise
enough to know that a demon of the deep which could sink cruisers before
they could fire a shot and smash destroyers as if they were pleasure
boats could make very short work of liners and cargo steamers, so they
bowed to the inevitable and accepted with what grace they could defeat
and capture instead of what an hour or so ago looked like certain
victory. But the captain of the sixth, the one that was farthest out to
sea, made a dash for liberty--or Dover.

Erskine took down the receiver and said quietly:

"Centre forward gun. Train: fire!"

The next moment a brilliant blaze of flame leapt up between the
transport's funnels. They crumpled up like scorched parchment. Her
whole super-structure seemed to take fire at once and she stopped.

Again flashed the signal:

"Surrender or I'll ram."

The Tricolor fluttered slowly down through the damp, still evening air
from the transport's main truck, and almost at the same moment a fussy
little steam pinnace--which had been keeping itself snugly out of harm's
way since the first French cruiser had gone down--puffed busily out of
the harbour, and the proudest midshipman in the British Navy--for the
time being, at least--ran from transport to transport, crowded with
furious and despairing Frenchmen, and told them, individually and
collectively, the course to steer if they wanted to get safely into
Folkestone harbour and be properly taken care of.

Then out of the growing darkness to the westward long gleams of silver
light flashed up from the dull grey water and wandered about the
under-surface of the gathering clouds, coming nearer and growing
brighter every minute, jumping about the firmament as though the men
behind the projectors were either mad or drunk; but the signals spelt
out to those who understood them the cheering words:

"All right. We'll look after these fellows. Commander-in-Chief's
orders: Concentrate on Chilham, Canterbury and Dover."

"That's all right," said Erskine to himself, as he read the signals.
"Beresford's got them comfortab