Presently dense masses of smoke on the horizon betokened the presence of the monitors. Each, her presence screened by artificial fog emitted from the attendant destroyers, was firing with her 17-inch gun at extreme elevation, dropping tons of H.E. shells upon an invisible target, while seaplanes, hovering overhead, recorded by means of wireless the result of each discharge. Within a mile of the unwieldy floating batteries the M.-L. altered course, keeping parallel to the invisible shore. It was an inspiring scene. In the rifts of the smoke-screen could be discerned the tripod masts, enormous top-hamper and up-trained guns of the monitors. With every shot the vessels heeled, until, with the return list, their gigantic "blisters" or anti-torpedo devices were exposed above the oily surface of the calm sea. It was by no means a one-sided game. Projectiles were "straddling" the monitors, some falling hundreds of yards beyond their objective, and hurling columns of foam high into the air, as they ricochetted three or four times before finally plunging to the bed of the North Sea. The whine of a high-velocity shell, as it passed a few feet above the wheel-house of M.-L. 4452, gave Branscombe warning that he, too, was under shell fire. A direct hit with one of those monsters would mean utter annihilation to the wooden hull of the M.-L. and to her crew as well. Nevertheless the little flotilla had to "carry on". Orders to patrol on a certain course had to be implicitly obeyed. The "small fry" under the White Ensign had to take similar and often greater risk than their huge and powerfully armed and protected sisters. Up and down the limits of their patrol the little M.-L.'s carried on. No. 4453, always the unlucky one, was struck by a ricochetting shell. Fortunately the missile did not explode, nor did it detonate the depth charges stowed astern; but the impact played havoc with the ward-room, completely demolishing the roof and knocking two gaping holes in the raised sides. Well it was that her crew were at action stations, for not a man received as much as a scratch. At the pre-arranged hour the monitors "packed up". Lowering the muzzles of their guns and bringing the weapons in a fore-and-aft position, they steamed slowly out of range under cover of a really colossal smoke-screen. For nearly twenty minutes the Huns liberally "watered" the spot where the bombarding force had been, until their observation balloons--for they were afraid to send their aeroplanes out--reported that once more the British ships had withdrawn. That evening Berlin would be cheered by the report that a prolonged and determined attack upon Zeebrugge by strong enemy forces had failed, with heavy losses inflicted upon the attackers.