Two dazzling beams from theMessines' bridge leapt across the waste of dark water. TheArmentières' searchlights were almost immediately switched on, and the four powerful rays swept inquiringly in the direction from which the flash of the hostile quick-firer emanated.
Had there been two enemy vessels, Trehallow, as senior officer present, would not have ordered the searchlights to be run. In those circumstances it would have been bad tactics. Whilst you are "picking up" one opponent, the other will, to a certainty, pour in a withering fire. But when, as in the present case, it is possible to concentrate the dazzling beams upon a solitary hostile craft, the latter is practically blinded. She cannot fire with any degree of accuracy right into a bewildering glare, while her gun-layers, in the knowledge that they are literally "in the limelight" and in momentary anticipation of the arrival of a death-dealing salvo, become "jumpy" and possibly panic-stricken.
It was a matter of a few seconds before the beamspicked up their objective. TheCerro Algarrobowas eight thousand yards away, and had just turned eight points to port, or at right angles to her previous course. With the discharge of her quick-firer she had resorted to a very old trick—one that stood a fair chance of success before the era of searchlights. She had dropped overboard a balsa-raft with a lighted lantern, in the hope that her pursuers would concentrate on that and give her an opportunity to escape in the darkness.
But now she lay revealed, with two powerfully-armed destroyers, both capable of giving her six or seven knots, well within effective range.
TheCerro Algarrobowas heavily armed and was protected on the water-line. She had a very numerous crew, well trained in modern naval warfare. Had the cruiser been manned by Britons and the destroyers by the pirates, the former would have been more than a match for her opponents. But the dominant factors—the man behind the gun and the cool, calculating brain in the conning-tower—were absent. The hot-blooded South American strain—partly Spanish, partly negro, with a touch of Indian and a flavour of a dozen other races—was no match for the British seaman.
Already, in her brief encounter with theComplex, the Rioguayan cruiser had "bitten off more than she could chew". She had lain in wait for the decoy ship in the belief that the latter was unarmed and unsuspecting, and that she could, with impunity, fire upon the already sinking British ship. Instead, she had beensent in headlong flight, with gaping holes in her upper works and fifty of her crewhors de combatAnd worse was to come.
The 4.7's were getting to work. Splashes of lurid light marked the explosion of the deadly missiles right on their target. The Rioguayan vessel replied, but feebly, most of her projectiles falling short and wide of the zigzagging destroyers.
In five minutes theCerro Algarrobowas on fire fore and aft. Her masts and funnel had disappeared, her topsides were torn by ragged gashes through which lurid flames poured fiercely.
She was still making way, but at a very reduced speed, and showed a pronounced list to starboard.
"Cease fire!"
The pandemonium died down. A tense silence brooded over the destroyers, save for the hiss of escaping steam and theswishof water from theirknife-like bows.
Satisfied that the pirate craft had received her quietus, the British destroyers were about to close and lower boats. There were lives to be saved, even if they were those of blood-thirsty pirates. Apart from humanitarian instincts, it was desirable to find out from the survivors the exact particulars of the mysterious buccaneering vessel.
A gun was discharged from the burning Rioguayan cruiser, Whether it was a note of defiance, or merely caused by the flames exploding the charge in a loaded quick-firer was a matter for speculation.
The masthead flashing lamp of theMessinessent out a demand for surrender, with the assurance that quarter would be given to the survivors.
"X G E" (surrender), read out the Chief Yeoman to the signalman, at the key of the flashing lamp, referring to the International Code Manual, "O A H (I will give you)..."
Then he paused and turned inquiringly to the Lieutenant-Commander.
"Beg pardon, sir," he exclaimed, "but there ain't no right letters for 'quarter '. Will this 'ere 'U E V' do?"
Trehallow glanced at the signal book.
"Use that and risk it," he replied, adding in an undertone, "s'pose the Tower of Babelis responsible for this."
"Beg pardon, sir?" reiterated the Yeoman of Signals interrogatively.
"Carry on," said the Lieutenant-Commander curtly. So the signal had flashed forth as follows:
"Surrender—I will give you one-fourth!"
The answer was in the negative. TheCerro Algarroboreplied with five or six rounds, one of the projectiles penetrating theMessines' quarter and completely wrecking the Skipper's cabin.
There was no hope for it. Both destroyers reopened fire. In less than thirty seconds an explosion was observed on board the hostile craft. Then, in a pall of smoke, she disappeared beneath the waves.
The crews of both destroyers broke into a roundof stentorian cheers. With searchlights still playing on the debris-strewn water, theMessineshastened to search for possible survivors.
Slowing down, she lowered a couple of boats. TheArmentières, lying-to a couple of cables away, assisted in the search.
Two half-naked and badly burnt men were rescued from the keel of an upturned boat. Others were observed to be clinging to a large float, somewhat resembling a "Carley" raft, at a considerable distance from the scene of theCerro Algarrobo'sdisappearance.
TheMessines' whaler was hurrying to their succour when there was a tremendous detonation within fifty yards of theArmentières. The destroyers heeled under the upheaval of the water. Men on deck were thrown about like skittles, some narrowly escaping being washed overboard by the torrent of water that swept completely over her. At the same moment her searchlights went out, probably owing to the dislocation of the circuits under the terrific concussion.
"What are those seaplane fellows doing?" exclaimed Trehallow. "They're bombing us, by Jove! Switch on our recognition lights. Be sharp there!"
But before the order could be carried out, bombs were descending close to both destroyers. Against the faint luminosity of the starless sky could be discerned the outlines of half a dozen aircraft, wheeling in squadron formation, preparatory to returning to the attack.
"Hostile aircraft!" ejaculated the Lieutenant-Commander, hardly able to credit his senses. "The sky's stiff with 'em."
The position of the destroyers was now an unusual one. With their boats still away picking up survivors, they could not manoeuvre at high speed. Their only means of offence was a solitary "A A" gun each. They were taken by surprise and had no means of finding out the actual nature of the aerial attack.
Ordering the searchlights to be screened and all lights visible from without to be masked, Trehallow next telegraphed for "easy ahead", at the same time warning the engine-room staff against the danger of allowing flames to issue from the funnels.
Then he steamed slowly in the direction of the destroyer's boats, the crews of which were still busy with the work of rescue, despite the danger to which the latest development of enemy activity so cruelly subjected them.
Doubtless theArmentièreswas similarly engaged. There was no sign of her in the darkness; added to the complicated business was the possibility of the two destroyers colliding.
Whether theArmentièreswas successful in her quest those on board theMessineswere in ignorance. On her part, theMessineswas fortunate to pick up her boats in quick time, including two survivors of theCerro Algarrobo. The others sighted clinging to the raft had perforce to be abandoned to their fate; the coxswain of theMessines' whaler afterwards reported that a bomb had fallen close to the raft and had probably sent the luckless pirates to share the fate of the bulk of their comrades.
The boats had only just been hastily hoisted in and secured, when the loud drone of a dozen aeroplane engines announced the return of the aerial attackers.
It would be no exaggeration to state frankly that the crews of the two destroyers had—to use a pithy expression—"cold feet". On board a lightly-built craft, with little or no protection—for the decks were only of three-sixteenths steel—the crews were practically helpless. All they could do was to "stick it "; for, with the exception of the three hands manning theanti-aircraft gun, theyhad no means of offence against the almost invisible menace from the darkened sky.
In the heat of battle, even against odds, when each man had his active part to perform, there was little or no time for thoughts of personal danger. These were men who had willingly undertaken to remain motionless for hours upon the deck of a Q-boat when shelled by a submarine; they did so in the hope that an opportunity of hitting back with interest was imminent, They had weapons wherewith to strike and strike hard, and they were eager to take up the offensive at the very earliest opportune moment.
But now the position was different, They were defenceless—or practically so—against the hostile airmen. They were ignorant of the nationality of their foes, of the strength and manoeuvring power of the attacking aircraft. Yet not a man failed to do his duty, although his greatest concern was to conceal from his"raggie" any indication of the fear that gripped him. Both destroyers were now without way. They realized that zigzagging tactics were too risky. The tell-tale phosphorescent wake that had betrayed the fugitiveCerro Algarrobowould also reveal their presence to the men controlling those swift-moving machines high above the surface of the sea.
It was now so dark that theMessineshad entirely lost touch with her opposite number. Not the faintest suspicion of a light was displayed. The anti-aircraft gun of each destroyer was silent, although the respective gunlayers were itching to let rip at the reapproaching aerial squadron.
Suddenly a star-shell fired from the leading flying-boat threw the two destroyers into a pool of light. All attempt at concealment was, for the present, futile. Engine-room telegraph gongs clanged. The long, lean boats darted forward, heeling to the action of their helms put hard over. The "antis" spat viciously, the crash of the exploding shells punctuating the roar of the aerial propellers.
One of the attacking aircraft, caught by a six-pounder, was literally pulverized. Apparently the detonation of the projectile had exploded her cargo of powerful bombs.
In the flash of the explosion, the rest of the attackers could be seen staggering under the effect of the air-blast; but, admirably handled, they recovered and resumed formation, closing up the gap where the luckless flying-boat had been.
The British crews cheered ironically at the destruction of one of their foes, but their triumph was short-lived. Almost before the shouting had subsided, a bomb struck theArmentièresbetween the stern and the after torpedo tubes. So terrific was the force of the resulting explosion that the after part of the destroyer was completely shattered. Deprived of her propellers and rudder, she still carried way, though her deck as far for'ard as the aftermast funnel was awash. Knee-deep in water, her shell-shocked anti-aircraft gun's crew were still firing blindly.
"She's gone!" ejaculated Carfax, who with Cavendish and another officer, was on theMessines' bridge.
"No fear," replied Cavendish, catching a glimpse of theArmentières' outlines in the flash of the gun. "Watertight bulkheads are holding."
Cavendish was now almost unconscious of the peril that threatened theMessines. The plight of theArmentièreshad displaced all other thoughts. He felt himself speculating as to what ought to be done and what he would do had he been commanding-officer of theMessines.
Lieutenant-Commander Trehallow was grappling with a similar problem, but in his case he was quick to act. To attempt to seek safety in flight and leave the crippled destroyer to fall an easy prey to her attackers never entered into his calculations. He was debating whether to run alongside theArmentièresand remove her crew, or whether to attempt to take the sorely damaged craft in tow.
The while bombs were dropping rapidly, but the enemy airmen were either novices at the game or were too excited to act with deliberation. The nearest of the terrible missiles fell not less than eighty yards away, turning the otherwise calm sea into a maelstrom of smoke-laden spray.
The second phase of the attack passed. The airmen had overshot their quarry and were turning to approach in the eye of the wind once more.
Trehallow rang for easy ahead, shouting to the quarter-master to lay theMessinesalongside her consort. It was a difficult operation in the darkness, but with admirable skill and judgment the Lieutenant-Commander succeeded in his manoeuvre.
"Prepare to be taken in tow," he roared through a megaphone.
A greatcoated figure on theArmentières' deck raised his hand in acknowledgment. Men dashed on to her fo'c'sle to receive the heaving-lines. The wire hawsers were hauled aboard and shackled to the towing strops with the utmost dispatch, but without confusion. Here again discipline told.
Gently theMessinesforged ahead until the strain on the hawsers was taken up. Then, in obedience to an order, dense clouds of smoke issued from both vessels, enveloping them like a pall.
Under cover of the smoke-screen—one of the recognized appliances of modern naval warfare—the two destroyers made a bid for safety. The odds were now in their favour. A single aeroplane might ventureto attack through that lofty, dense, suffocating bank of artificial fog. More would stand a serious risk of collision. And, apart from having no visible target, an attacking aircraft would quickly loose all sense of direction while within the limits of the smoke-cloud.
Trehallow's next move was to send a wireless message to theBasilikon, requesting the light cruiser to keep away. It would be useless devotion on the part of the latter to run the risk of being destroyed by aerial bombs under cover of night.
Still zigzagging and consequently throwing a heavy strain upon the towing hawsers, theMessinescarried on. There were limits to the duration of the action of the smoke apparatus. Sooner or later the two destroyers would have to emerge, but it remained to be seen whether they had eluded the five flying-boats. Perhaps the hostile aircraft were hovering, three thousand feet up and out of sight and hearing, waiting for their prey to disclose their presence. A period of suspense followed, but still the waiting planes—if they were indeed waiting—gave no indication of their presence.
Presently Cavendish touched his companion on the shoulder.
"Listen!" he exclaimed. "Machine-gun fire!"
"Not the faintest doubt about it, Weeds," rejoined Carfax, as the staccato reports were borne to their ears. "What's the move?"
At length the destroyers crawled slowly from the fringes of the smoke-cloud. The moon had risen andthe sky and sea were bathed in brilliant yellow light. Not a sign of the hostile aircraft was to be seen. Twenty minutes later came the solution of the affair in the form of a wireless from one of theBasilikon'sseaplanes.
"Report engaged unknown hostile aircraft. Two shot down. Rest in flight. Pursued, but unable to overhaul."
The news came as a mild surprise to the average British citizen when, on opening his morning paper, he found that there was actually another war on—no rumour of impending hostilities, no preliminary exchange of "Notes", nor even a declaration of war. Hostilities had taken place between Great Britain and the Republic of Rioguay.
Very few people had as much as heard of that South American state. Those who did were almost without exception quite in ignorance of its resources. Even the Cabinet Ministers had to admit that their information concerning the supposedly obscure republic was vague. The Foreign Office could supply but little information.
It was War. The Admiralty communiqués reported an engagement off the north-east coast of South America, but without any details. Already part of the Atlantic Fleet was on its way to the West Indies to reinforce the three light cruisers and half a dozen destroyers in those waters.
Undoubtedly, the Rioguayan Republic had chosen a favourable opportunity to challenge the BritishEmpire. The Near Eastern question had cropped up again when the optimists had come to the conclusion that at last the Balkans were no longer a firebrand. Consequently, two-thirds of the British navy's capital ships were tied down to the Mediterranean.
Internal troubles in India and external troubles on her North-West Frontier were brewing, while both Egypt and the Sudan were in a state of grave unrest.
Señor Jaime Samuda, President of the Republic of Rioguay, had laid his plans well. He knew that he had little to fear from United States intervention. Uncle Sam was at present kept on tenterhooks by a revival of the Japanese peril, and practically every available warship flying the Stars and Stripes had concentrated on the Pacific coast.
He counted on French neutrality, gauging the Gallic attitude by the events of 1922. Italy did not come into his calculations; but he reckoned upon German support as far as the curtailed resources of Germany's armaments permitted.
Altogether the Rioguayan Government had at its disposal nine capital ships—all of recent construction and heavily armed.
Against these the British Government could show but four or five. Of the numbers allowed by the Washington Conference, the bulk were "up the Straits". Of the remainder, two had recently received serious damage through mutual collision. Their repairs would take at least six months, provided the workmen employed in the private yards to which thedamaged vessels had been sent would refrain from striking during that period.
In light cruisers the rival countries were about equal, but as regards the numbers of destroyers available, Great Britain had a decided superiority apart from the numerous vessels of that type required elsewhere. On the other hand, Rioguay was a long distance from England. The West India station had been neglected and its resources cut down. The nearest base of any importance was Bermuda, and even then the dockyard at Somers Island was incapable of dealing with repairs of much magnitude. For oil fuel, on which the destroyers depended, there were no British ports in the West Indies where any large quantities were stored. It meant that the fleet had to be "fueled" either at neutral ports or by oil-tankers. The latter required escort as a protection from commerce-destroyers, which entailed a heavy drain upon the numbers of light cruisers available.
But it was on aircraft that President Jaime Samuda pinned his faith. He hoped that by means of the efficient machines in the possession of the Rioguayan Government, the task of extending the scene of hostilities far beyond the frontiers of Rioguay would be successfully carried out.
The ultimate hope of Rioguay was the consolidation of several republics into a United States of South America with resources rivalling those of the hitherto greatest Powers in the world. For some undefined reason, Samuda had become obsessed with the ideathat a decisive blow at the British Empire would be an important preliminary stroke.
Originally, his scheme was to start a campaign against British mercantile ships, destroying them without leaving a trace. By so doing he hoped to deal a paralysing blow at a section of seaborne resources of the British Empire, which the interruption of the Argentine and Brazilian trade would embrace. There was also a large proportion of British shipping still making the Horn passage, and already a number of vessels bound to and from the Pacific had been sunk.
In following the policy of secret destructive action Samuda also hoped that suspicion would fall upon certain South American republics other than Rioguay. His hopes might have been realized but for the series of engagements following the attack upon the decoy-shipComplex.
The few survivors from theCerro Algarrobohad "given the show away". Separately cross-examined, they had admitted their nationality readily enough. The mere hint that if they could claim no governmental covering authority for their acts they would be classed as pirates and treated accordingly, was sufficient to compel them to hasten to give a full account of the cruise of the ill-fatedCerro Algarrobo.
These facts were communicated by wireless to Bermuda and thence cabled to the Admiralty.
A Declaration of War—declaring a war that was already in progress—followed.
That same day, Brian Strong and Peter Corbold landed at Southampton.
Seven weeks had elapsed from the time they crossed the Rioguayan frontier. The Indians, with whom they had fallen in, had proved very hospitable and had nursed them both through a bout of fever. On their recovery, Brian Strong and his nephew were conveyed down the river in canoes of their Indian benefactors, and eventually reached La Guayra, the port of Caracas, the Venezuelan capital.
From La Guayra they took steamer to Barbadoes, thence to Southampton.
The news of the outbreak of war with Rioguay did not surprise either uncle or nephew, but what did was the bald information that two British seaplanes had routed six hostile flying-boats. They rejoiced after the manner of their kind—without demonstrations.
Nevertheless, Brian Strong was puzzled. Although as a patriot he was elated at the news of the aerial combat, it puzzled him to think that the Rioguayans had failed to take advantage of the wonderful machines that owed their existence to his brains.
"It's the human element that counts, all the time, Peter," he remarked. "If the Rioguayan air fleet doesn't put up a better show in the future, I needn't have gone to the trouble of bringing this gadget home."
He tapped his breast coat pocket, wherein lay one of the essentials of his invention. The others he had also succeeded in bringing to England in spite of difficulties—the latest being a wordy encounter witha self-important Customs official at Southampton Docks.
Had the Admiralty permitted a full, uncensored account of the engagement to become public, Brian Strong would not have been quite so cheerful. No mention had been made of the disconcerting fact that the British seaplanes were unaccountably unable to attack the fugitiveCerro Algarrobo. Perhaps the circumstances were deemed too insignificant to merit notice at Whitehall, but that was not the view taken by the flying-officers of the seaplanes in question.
Hurrying by taxi to Southampton West Station, Brian and Peter were just in time to catch a Waterloo express. They dined on board the train, took another taxi at Waterloo, and gave the driver instructions to drive to the Admiralty.
They found the buildings besieged by a crowd of applicants of all sorts and conditions. There were young ex-Royal Naval and R.N.R. officers offering themselves for active service afloat. Retired officers, who had been on the Pension List for years were clamouring for jobs afloat, a few "after soft billets ashore". There were highly patriotic individuals of the profiteer type ready to prove theirindispensabilityand secretly hoping that the petty little war would develop into something big and last for years and years. Inventors with ideas that were good, and inventors whose suggestions were of not the slightest use, were in evidence to leaven the lump that threatened to clog the Admiralty machine.
At length, after an hour and a half of tedious waiting, Brian and Peter found themselves within the vestibule of the Admiralty. Without a word, a harassed petty-officer attendant handed Brian Strong a slip of paper to be filled in.
"Name?"—that was easy enough. "Address?" Brian hadn't one. He was a wanderer on the face of the earth. He wrote the name of an hotel in the Strand where he hoped to put up, but up to the present he had made no attempt to book a room. "Officer required to be seen?" Here was another poser. At Peter's suggestion, he wrote, "Deputy Chief of Naval Staff". The last question, "Nature of Business?" was the pitfall. If he stated too much and claimed too great an importance of his errand, he would more than likely be "turned down" as an importunate time-waster. If he merely requested a private interview without credentials to support his application, he would not stand the ghost of a chance of stating his case.
He turned appealingly to his nephew. The petty-officer sighed impatiently. He was not a man to "suffer fools gladly". That sort of thing becomes boring after years in the Admiralty inquiry bureau.
"Put down 'Applicant late Consulting Engineer to the Rioguayan Air Board '," suggested Peter. "That will do the trick."
Uncle Brian thought not; it looked too audacious on paper. But it suggested a line of action.
In a firm, scholarly hand, he wrote:
"Confidential. Applicant for interview landed at Southampton this morning from Rioguay."
A messenger took the paper slip and departed. Uncle Brian resigned himself to another spell of tedious waiting. He had vivid recollections of Government offices in the days of the Great War, when a caller, no matter how important his business, was handed over to the tender mercies of a flapper in brown holland, and might, with luck, arrive at his destination with the last ounce of strength left in his tottering legs, only to find that after tramping through hundreds of yards of corridors the person he sought had gone to lunch.
It came as an agreeable surprise when, in about five minutes, Brian Strong and his nephew were told that the Deputy Chief would see them.
Their passes stamped, the two men were escorted by a messenger to a room overlooking the Mall. Here the naval officer was waiting to receive them.
Sir John Pilrig was by no means the Sherlock Holmes sleuth-hound type of man that the nature of his office seemed to warrant. He was burly, full-faced, with a fresh complexion. His mild blue eyes and smooth white hair gave him a benevolent aspect, He reminded Peter more of a Harley Street specialist than a naval officer upon whose shoulders rested the weight of a responsibility hardly less than that of the First Sea Lord.
There was no brusqueness in his demeanour. His manner seemed almost apologetic, but it was evidentthat he had the art of being able to obtain information from a person without "rubbing him up the wrong way".
Sir John showed no surprise at the appearance of his callers, although their clothes, suitable to the climate of the West Indies, were hardlycomme il fautin Whitehall.
"So you have just arrived from Rioguay, Mr. Strong?" he began. "I am pleased to meet you. I must confess that my knowledge of the internal conditions of Rioguay is elementary—I might say vague—and no doubt you may be able to give me valuable information on several points. And your friend—was he with you out there?"
"My nephew—yes," replied Brian. "We left Rioguay in somewhat unusual circumstances by air."
The Deputy Chief did not conceal his surprise; but he merely nodded an encouragement for Brian Strong to "carry on".
Uncle Brian maintained a full head of steam for quite fifteen minutes, describing the details of the flying-boat with technical and convincing accuracy.
"You know a lot of very important information about the Rioguayan air fleet," observed Sir John.
"Because I designed them," was the astonishing rejoinder.
"H'm," commented the Deputy Chief, without attempting to charge his visitor with unpatriotic motives. "Then with your technical knowledge, perhaps you could enlighten me on one point. Apartfrom the armour protection of the Rioguayan flying-boats, do they possess any special means of defence against opposing aircraft?"
"Speed and manoeuvring powers," replied Brian.
"Anything else?"
Brian shook his head.
"Why I ask," continued Sir John Pilrig, "is this: here is a portion of the report of the officer commanding H.M.S.Basilikon. He lays particular stress upon the fact that when two of our seaplanes were about to attack one of the Rioguayan cruisers, they were unable to approach within two miles of her. They simply had to descend through ignition troubles, but on the hostile vessel increasing her distance the defect—if defect it could be termed—was no longer in evidence. That phenomenon occurred on three occasions during that operation."
Peter threw a sidelong glance at his uncle. Brian's face was pale beneath its tan.
"By Jove, Peter!" he exclaimed. "Ramon Diaz has got to wind'ard of us. He's stolen the plans of the rays."
"Explain, please," said the Deputy Chief of Staff. In answer, Brian Strong stopped and undid the fastenings of a leather portmanteau which, like the haversack, he had so carefully guarded in his flight from El Toro. From it he drew a complicated "valve set" and placed it upon the table.
"This, sir," he replied, "is the secret. I had hoped that it was a secret still, but your information unfortunately leads me to think otherwise. With an apparatus embodying this invention, I can truthfully claim to bring down any aircraft in existence. It was my intention to give my secret to the British Government, and it is for that purpose that I am here. Unfortunately, it is a secret no longer. By some means, the Rioguayan Government has acquired the knowledge and has already put it to practical use."
Briefly, Brian Strong explained the device, giving particulars of the experimental flight in which Peter had taken a practical part.
"It is, of course, unfortunate," admitted Sir John. "But tell me, in the event of two opposing forces using a similar device, would the rays of one affect the other?"
"Undoubtedly," affirmed Brian decidedly.
"Well, then," continued the Deputy Chief of Staff, "the position, I take it, would be this: the aircraft of both opponents would be rendered ineffectual. That's something. It leaves the conduct of operations in the hands of other branches of warfare. In the present instance—warships."
"Precisely," agreed Brian.
Sir John went to the window and gazed across the Mall, apparently deep in thought. Suddenly he turned to his visitor.
"If you had an up-to-date workshop and a staff of highly-trained mechanics at your disposal, Mr. Strong, how long would it take you to produce a complete apparatus for testing purposes?"
"Two days," replied Brian, without hesitation.
"Excellent," exclaimed Sir John, touching an electric bell. "I will make arrangements for you to proceed to the naval gunnery establishment at Whale Island, where all facilities will be provided. There is one other matter. I trust you will not mind my mentioning it—the question of funds."
"That's all right, Sir John," said Brian. "I can carry on without—er—financial assistance for a bit. When the gadget's proved——"
Sir John let it go at that. He realized that Brian Strong was a man with high motives, and that discussing money matters was distasteful.
"I don't care what I get out of the business," declared Brian when uncle and nephew found themselves crossing Trafalgar Square. "They can give me what they like, as long as it's not the Order of the Bad Egg."
Brian Strong's surmise was a correct one. He had underrated the craftiness of Don Ramon Diaz, Air Minister to the Government of Rioguay. Strong mistrusted Diaz. Diaz mistrusted Strong. Each hoped that the other was unsuspicious. Brian's hasty and daring departure had removed all shadow of doubt on the Rioguayan's part, but that did not give him any great concern. What was more to the point, Ramon Diaz had acquired the secret of Strong's ray apparatus, and had wasted no time in turning it to good account.
Sir John Pilrig decided that it was a fortunate circumstance, this interview with a scientist unknown and lacking credentials. Not only had Brian Strong afforded valuable information, but he had unreservedly placed his invention at the Government's disposal. Should the invention come up to expectations—and there was no reason why it should not, judging by the results obtained by the Rioguayan flying-boats on theCerro Algarroboengagement—it would reduce the rival aerial forces to a state of stalemate. It was, of course, unfortunate that the secret was in hostile hands,he mused, but there was some satisfaction to be derived from the knowledge that the Rioguayan air forces were not the sole possessors of the mysterious rays.
And—a remarkable fact, decided the Deputy Chief of Staff—the inventor had asked nothing, either for himself or his nephew—a rarity in these days of mercenary offers in the name of patriotism.
By eleven o'clock on the morning following the momentous interview, Brian Strong, with Peter Corbold as his chief assistant, reported for duty at Whale Island Naval Gunnery Establishment—an artificially-constructed island in the upper reaches of Portsmouth Harbour.
Already a large building had been allocated to them as an experimental workshop, complete with lathes, benches, moulds, and drawing-office, with electric light and power, and with a small staff of armourers and electricians—the pick of the highly-skilled naval artificers of the Gunnery School.
There, behind closed doors—for no one save the Commodore was allowed entrance—Brian Strong set to work to reconstruct the device that, for all time, it was hoped, was to draw the sting from the terror of the skies.
At 4.45 of the same afternoon, a look-out of the R.N. signal station at Culver Cliff in the Isle of Wight heard the rumble of distant gunfire. There was nothing extraordinary in that. Men-of-war carrying out gunnery practice in the Channel, he decided.
But when, almost simultaneously, he heard theshriek of a projectile, his interest became aroused. It was part of his duty to warn ships, when, as sometimes happened, the ricochetting shells pitched against the chalk cliff, of the possible danger to life and property of His Majesty's liege subjects.
"Bill!" he shouted to his opposite number, who was industriously engaged in mending frayed signal flags in the room under the look-out place. "Stand by to 'oist 'height nought nine'. TheSpanker—'er wot went out this mornin'—is a-lobbin' 4.7's ashore."
Having shared the responsibility of taking action, the signalman applied his eye to a large telescope mounted on a tripod.
From his elevated post, the look-out hut being 350 feet above sea-level, the horizon line was roughly twenty-five miles away. The sea was calm, the atmosphere clear, except for a few patches of mist that threatened to develop into a sea-fog.
There was but one vessel in sight. She proved to be a tramp bound up-channel. There were no signs of the light cruiserSpanker.
Even as he looked, came another faint report.
The man, by reason of long experience, knew that it was not a quick-firer. The interval was too great for that. The unusual pitch of the whine of the projectile puzzled him.
Suddenly a long, low-lying dark object appeared in the field of the high-powered telescope.
"Gosh!" ejaculated the bluejacket, "s'elp me if she ain't a perishin' submarine."
Even as he looked, he saw a long, slender object rise from the for'ard deck of the distant vessel. Slowly but unhesitatingly it moved until the watcher found himself gazing down the muzzle of a gun. Instinctively he shut his eyes, forgetting that a distance of about fifteen miles separated him from that menacing ring of metal.
When he looked again, the gun had been trained to an elevation of nearly forty-five degrees. There was a flash... thirty seconds later he heard the report.
Twice more the gun was discharged; then the mysterious vessel submerged.
The spell was broken as far as the signalman was concerned. Clamping the telescope, so that it remained trained upon the spot where he had seen the submarine disappear, he shouted to his mate, who was leisurely bending the hoist of flags to the signal halliards.
"Belay there," he exclaimed excitedly. "Get on the telephone to the C.-in-C. There's a bloomin' submarine been shellin' Pompey."
His opposite number looked up languidly and solemnly winked his eye.
"'Tain't the fust of April, mate," he remarked in mild reproof. "D'ye want ter get me 'ung, or what not?"
Ten minutes later, the Commander-in-Chief at Portsmouth was informed by wireless telephony from Culver Cliff of something that he was already wellaware of—that five shells had been fired at the principal naval port of the British Empire. In addition, he learnt that the shells came from a submarine, nationality unknown, operating 16 miles S. 1/2 E. magnetic from Culver Cliff Signal Station.
In a very short time, the Admiral was in possession of material facts concerning the damage. One projectile had fallen in the Dockyard, completely demolishing the caisson at the entrance to No. 15 Dock, and severely damaging the light cruiserVolobus, which was undergoing repairs in that particular dock.
Another had hit the seaplane carrierFurious, which had recently returned from the Mediterranean. The shell had descended obliquely, just in the wake of the conning-tower. Fitted with a delayed-action fuse, the missile penetrated three decks before exploding in the port engine-room. The greatest effect of the explosive was downwards, indicating that it was composed of a substance allied to dynamite. The double-bottoms and "blister" on the port side were shattered to a length of fifty feet, pieces of the three-inch side-armour being torn bodily away. TheFurioussank in eight minutes in seven fathoms.
Shell No. 3 descended on the railway close to Fratton Bridge, blowing a hole eighty feet in diameter in the railway cutting and bringing down the bridge. Here, the loss of life was great, for the bridge carried one of the principal arteries of the town. In addition, the sole means of railroad communication into and out of Portsmouth was cut. The most sanguine estimateplaced the completion of the repairs at eight weeks. The remaining two projectiles luckily failed to do serious damage, one falling in the sea two hundred yards from the South Parade Pier, the other making a huge crater in the Fratton Park football ground twenty minutes after a huge crowd had departed.
The British nation had abandoned its old-established ideas of insular immunity. The lesson of the Great War, particularly the German "tip-and-run" raids on Scarborough, Whitby, Hartlepool, Lowestoft, Great Yarmouth, Dover, and elsewhere, had destroyed the fetish-like faith in the navy to render our shores inviolate. With a length of coast-line greater than that of any other country, taken in proportion to its area, Great Britain offers a decided chance of success to a daring sea-raider, and even when her fleet was at the zenith of power and size, the numbers were insufficient to protect the coast from minor hostile operations without seriously affecting the striking power of the Grand Fleet.
Thus the news of the bombardment of Portsmouth occasioned comparatively little surprise, except for the mystery of the affair. What was the nationality of the enemy craft? From what port did she come? Was she the emissary of a treacherous European Power, hoping to take advantage of the external and internal difficulties of the British Empire to deal a coward blow?
The idea of linking the submarine with the distant and insignificant Republic of Rioguay, with whomBritain was at war, seemed out of the question. Yet it was a submersible cruiser seventeen days out of San Antonio that had thrown out a challenge to the principal naval port of Great Britain.
Even as a professor of anatomy can reconstruct the skeleton of a prehistoric mammoth from a few scraps of bone, so can a gunnery expert decide upon the calibre and power of an unseen and unknown weapon from a few fragments of its projectile—and with a greater degree of certainty than in the case of the constructive anatomist.
From available data, combined with information picked up from examination of such remains of the shells as were recovered, the experts decided that the projectile was seven feet in length with an external diameter of four inches; that the weapon was a 120-calibre gun, with a muzzle velocity of from 3000 to 3500 feet per second and with an extreme range of fifty-five miles.
It was also established that at a range of twenty-five miles—the distance between the position of the submarine and the town of Portsmouth—the projectiles must have attained the extreme vertical height of eight and a half miles.
In the midst of his labours, Brian Strong was called to the telephone in the Commodore's office to answer an urgent inquiry from the Admiralty.
Sir John Pilrig was at the instrument, anxiously inquiring whether Mr. Strong could give him any information about the Rioguayan submarines.
"I cannot," replied Brian bluntly. He was not the sort of man to beat about the bush and try to give the impression that he was in the position to supply the information. "Aircraft was my line. But my nephew here can give you particulars."
Peter took his uncle's place at the telephone and described the submarines he had seen manoeuvring off San Antonio.
"They were possibly instructional craft," he added. "Somewhat resembling our obsolete C class."
He proceeded to describe the craft in clear technical language, which compelled Sir John to inquire in what circumstances he had gained the knowledge.
"I was a sub-lieutenant, R.N., sir," he replied. "Retired under the regulations for the reduction of personnel."
"Ah," commented the Deputy Chief of Staff. "Very good. I'll ring off now."
Peter went back to his work.