“Cut your collar away,” said Torrance. “That’s about all you can do. If he wants to hang on to the collar, let him.” “It’ll spoil his shirt,” objected Ikey. “Sh! Go ahead,” murmured Belding. “It’s a good idea. I couldn’t get at my own knife and do it, with him hanging on to me so tightly.” “Take care, Al,” advised Whistler. “And you other fellows stand aside. Be ready to run when George is free.” His advice was good. The giant seaman still snored, but it would not take much to rouse him. The five boys were now so much interested in the attempt to get Belding free that they took no heed of anything else. So they were all shocked when a chorus of steam whistles and sirens suddenly broke forth from the port below them. A gun boomed on the admiral’s ship. Pandemonium was let loose without warning. “Oh, my aunt!” groaned George Belding, “what is _that_?” “Willum Johnson” awoke with a start and a grunt, and, sitting up on the bank, demanded of everybody in general, “’Oo’s shootin’ hof the bloomin’ gun?” But Whistler and Torry had whirled to look out to sea. They had heard a similar alarm before. Out of the blue-gray fogbank over the sea, and high, high up toward the hazy sky, whirled a black object, no bigger at first than a bird. But how rapidly it approached the port, and how quickly its outline became perfectly clear! “A Zep, boys!” cried Al Torrance. “There’s a raid on! That’s a German machine, sure’s you are a foot high!” “Are you sure?” murmured Belding, who had been dragged quickly to his feet by the giant. “Hit’s the bloomin’ ’Uns--no fear it ain’t!” ejaculated the big British seaman. “Ah! There goes the a-he-rial guns.” Splotches of white smoke sprang up from several shoulders of the hill that overlooked the port. The watchful coast-defense men were not unprepared; but the enemy airship, rapidly growing bigger in the boys’ eyes, winged its way nearer to the land, boldly ignoring the shells sent up to meet it. “She’s going to drop her bombs right over the town!” gasped Whistler, grabbing Belding, who was nearest. CHAPTER II--THE HUN IN HIS FURY Wheeling up from behind them on the higher shoulder of the hill, an airplane spiraled into the upper ether, in an attempt to get above the huge machine that had, two minutes before, appeared out of the sea fog. But this attempt to balk the Hun, like those of the anti-aircraft guns in their emplacements about the port, promised little success. The fog had made the close approach of the huge Zeppelin possible, and now the rumble of the motors of the enemy machine could be heard clearly by the four Navy Boys on the hillside and their two companions. “Oh, cracky!” gasped Al Torrance. “She’s coming!” “And right this way!” gulped Ikey Rosenmeyer. “If she drops a bomb--” “Good-night!” completed Frenchy in a sepulchral tone. “Let’s get under cover!” cried George Belding, striving again to get away from the “friendly grip” of the British sailor, Willum Johnson.