There was not the slightest doubt that C 3's work was accomplished, while the chances of her crew surviving their hazardous task rose with a bound. In the lull that followed, the men made good use of their oars, and presently, to their relief, the picquet-boat told off to attempt their rescue was sighted. Quickly the heroic men were taken off and transferred to comparative safety on board H.M.T.B.D. _Phoebe_. Meanwhile the demolition-parties on the Mole were hard at work with Fritz's little contraptions, while the block-ships were preparing for their _magnum opus_ within the gates of the Huns' stronghold. CHAPTER XIV The Night of Nights "Hurrah! They've laid the ship slap alongside the Mole," reported Seton from his post of observation at the seaward aperture. "Sure," agreed Smith. "And it's about time we broke bounds and had a chip in." Both men were shouting at the top of their voices, for the noise without was deafening. The roar of the heavy guns punctuated by the crash of the quick-firers, the rattle of machine-guns, the hiss of escaping steam, the grinding of the _Vindictive's_ hull against the masonry, the cheers and shouts of the storming-parties, and the cries and groans of the wounded, all united in an indescribable babel of discord. Owing to the relative position of the ship and the prisoners' observation aperture, only a few feet of the _Vindictive's_ stern could be seen. There was nothing to indicate whether the assault had been successful. But on the Mole side there were soon evidences that the British seamen and marines had obtained a footing, and had more than made good their position. Grotesquely garbed men were dashing forward in sections, hurling bombs and using Lewis-guns like fiends possessed. Here and there a cornered Hun would put up a fight until laid low by bullet or cutlass thrust. Slowly but surely the British invaders of the Mole were working their way along. "No place for us here," yelled Seton. "Our fellows are bombing every hole they see. It's useless to attempt to tell them who we are, and I don't fancy being blown to atoms by our own side. We'll have to take to the tunnel." "Right-o!" agreed the pilot. Together they struggled desperately with the refractory stone, until by dint of great effort they succeeded in raising it on to the floor of the cell. It was then a matter of comparative ease to enlarge the hole sufficiently to allow them to effect their escape. They were not a moment too soon. With the sounds of the conflict immediately outside their cell, the two men dropped through the gaping hole, alighting on the stone floor of the corridor eight or nine feet below. The tunnel was thick with suffocating fumes. Until the smoke cleared any attempt at escape in the rear of the storming- and demolition-parties was out of the question. All that could be done was to work their way along to the seaward end of the corridor, and there await developments.