image: 07_beams.jpg[Illustration: A BLAZE OF DAZZLING BEAMSPage297]
Not until the elevation increased to 30 degrees were the searchlights to unmask. The period of suspense seemed interminable, although the flying-boats were known to be approaching at well over a hundred miles an hour.
"Bearing 90 degrees," came the level, even tones of the range-finding officer; then in a louder voice that seemed to indicate that a slow job had at last been completed: "Elevation 30 degrees."
Within the space of five seconds, every searchlight of the fleet was flashed obliquely into the darkness. The air was one blaze of dazzling beams, spread fanwise lest any daring and cunning airman should attempt to approach from an independent direction.
Eight miles off could be discerned the almost mathematical formation of the hostile air squadrons. They wavered when the beams fell athwart their path, which was probably owing to the pilots being temporarily blinded by the sudden glare. Then they recovered formation and came on.
A red rocket soared skywards from the flagship. It was the signal to let loose the rays.
To the onlookers it seemed as if a flight of plover had been raked by the heavy charge from a punt-gun. The massed flight broke its ranks. A few of the flying-boats held on, the majority simply nose-dived. A few were crashed into by those following. Others recovered sufficiently to plane down, remorselessly followed by the beam of a searchlight until they dropped helplessly upon the surface of the river.
One by one, those who at first had evaded the blighting rays were "picked up" by the searchlights and compelled to volplane. In less than thirty seconds silence brooded over the now crippled aircraft where a short while before the roar of two hundred powerful engines had rent the air. And within the space of another three minutes fifty flying-boats were either resting upon the water or were lying ten fathoms beneath it, all within a radius of a mile and a half.
Another signal issued from theRoyal Oak. A flotilla of fifteen destroyers in double column line ahead swung round under the lee of the battleships and darted towards the paralysed flying-boats.
Not a shot was fired. The Rioguayan airmen refrained because they feared the consequences—the British gunners, because their foes offered no resistance.
With typical imperturbability, the skippers of the various destroyers manoeuvred alongside their prey. The Rioguayans were peremptorily ordered on board and sent below. Then a few blows with a hatchet were sufficient to start the steel plating of the all-metal aircraft and send them to the bed of the river. Out of the fifty flying-boats, five were reserved as prizes. The rest were scuttled, since the British admiral had no means of sending the whole of the captured air fleet into harbour.
It was a glorious triumph for Brian Strong's inventive genius.
At dawn the British fleet began to ascend the river to carry hostilities into Rioguayan territory. The van of the fleet consisted of a number of West Indian motor fishing-boats, provided with paravanes and other countermining devices. These boats, belonging to patriotic owners in Jamaica, Trinidad, St. Vincent, Barbadoes, and Barbuda, had been offered to the British admiral, who, realizing their value, had gratefully accepted them.
They were manned entirely by volunteers from the fleet—men who knew the danger but did not hesitate to risk their lives for their comrades.
Following the sweepers came the battleships, cleared for action. Hard on their heels were three flotillas of destroyers, ready should occasion arise to dart past the lowering hulls of the battleships, and deal effectively with any hostile craft that might pluck up sufficient courage to attack. The light cruisers came next, escorting a huge airplane carrier, although no attempt had been made to use any of her brood for reconnaissance or bombing work, She was like a "back-number" veteran amongst a crowd of athletes.
Astern of the light cruisers were the fleet store-ship and oil-tankers, while in the rearguard were more destroyers and half a dozen "coastal motor-boats" that had come south from Halifax on the decks of two fleet auxiliaries.
The passage between the Island of Sambrombon and San Benito was accomplished without any sign of resistance. It had been expected that the enemy would train their anti-aircraft rays upon the motor-craft, since their magnetoes would be affected in a similar manner, but unaccountably the Rioguayans made no attempt to do so.
At length the fleet came in sight of San Antonio, and consequently well within range of their 15-inch guns. From the yard-arm of theRoyal Oaka hoist of bunting fluttered.
"Flag making our number, sir," reported the chief yeoman to the officer of the watch of theRebound. The "answering pennant" was hardly up before theRoyal Oaksemaphored:
"Flag toRebound. Lieutenant Peter Corbold to report on board as soon as convenient."
Peter was given the message. He guessed what was "in the wind" and hastened to obey. "As soon as convenient" meant, he knew, in naval parlance "as sharp as you jolly well can, and the quicker the better". Rigged out in a white drill tropical uniform lent by a brother officer who luckily had lost only a small amountof kit during the action, Peter went over the side into the waiting picket-boat and was soon on his way to the Flagship.
"I have selected you, Mr. Corbold," said the Admiral in his usual style of coming straight to the point, "to be the bearer of this letter to the President of Rioguay, since, I believe, you speak the language and have been a resident in Rioguay, You will wait till noon for a reply. The ultimatum is unsealed. Read it, and make yourself acquainted with the terms."
Peter did so. The British ultimatum was brief and emphatic. It demanded the unconditional surrender of San Antonio, with all warships, forts, military, naval, and aircraft stores and equipment. No hostages were demanded, and a promise was given that private and civil property would be strictly respected. The question of indemnities with respect to the wanton destruction of British mercantile shipping would be impartially dealt with at a later date. Failing an acceptance of the terms by noon, the port and fortified positions of San Antonio would be bombarded at 3 p.m.
The ultimatum was then sealed and again handed to Peter for delivery.
Five minutes later, the envoy was in the stern-sheets of the picket-boat on his way to San Antonio. He was unarmed, as were the crew. From the jack-staff in the bows was displayed a large white flag.
It was a good half-hour's run to the naval port landing-steps. The picket-boat was not fired upon,although Peter would not have been surprised if the Rioguayan forts and ships had done so. As he passed the shell-shattered warships lying at anchor off the town, their crews regarded the British boat with unfeigned interest, but without any demonstration of anger. The wharves, too, were crowded with spectators, civilians, seamen, and soldiers mingling indiscriminately.
It was a risky business. At any moment an exasperated Rioguayan might "let rip" with rifle or revolver, since there were no signs of anyone in authority to hold the throng in check. Yet unhesitatingly the unarmed picket-boat held on her course until at length she ran alongside the broad stone steps facing the Rioguayan Port Admiral's residence.
"Hey, laddie!" exclaimed a voice that sounded strangely familiar.
"Hello, Mackenzie!" replied Peter. "Didn't expect to see you in this galley."
"I hardly did myself," admitted Mackenzie. "I've only been released from prison this morning. They nabbed me when you cleared out. Our mutual friend Don Ramon wasn't particularly gentlemanly about it. Snarled like a dog. He was a bit hipped because you took French leave. But I hardly expected to see you here again and in that rig. So you got away all right? I had no means of finding out. And how is Mr. Strong?"
"Steady, Mac," protested Peter laughingly. "It's a long yarn and can wait. I've got to interview theport officials. We're going to put it about them this time."
"Never doubted but what we would," rejoined the Scot, "I gathered that Rioguay is feeling a bit sorry for itself. For one thing, my release. They wouldn't have been so courteous if things had been going their way. I'll wait on board your wee boat if you have no objection, and perhaps you will give me a passage?"
"Do so," agreed Peter. "I hope I shan't be very long."
All this while, a party of Rioguayan officers had been kept waiting. The lieutenant was in no hurry. He meant to let them cool their heels.
Then, with a great amount of saluting and heel clicking, the Rioguayan officers introduced themselves and offered to escort the envoy to the Admiralty buildings. There was no hauteur in their demeanour. They seemed genuinely anxious as to what was going to happen and were almost clamouring to pay attention to the representative of the British admiral.
In one of the rooms of the Admiralty House, Peter was introduced to the Port Admiral and Governor of San Antonio. With them were numerous officials—military, naval, and civilian.
Declining the offer of a glass of wine, Peter delivered his dispatch. Keenly observing the faces of the Rioguayan officials as one of the number translated the terms of the ultimatum, Corbold knew that there would be no bombardment. In fact, the mildness of the terms was a complete surprise. They expectednothing less than a demand for the surrender of the principal officers of the port and the instant payment of a vast sum of money to save the town from destruction.
Then they explained the situation to the British envoy. As far as San Antonio was concerned, the terms were accepted, and probably the rest of the Republic of Rioguay would surrender on the same conditions. For, unknown to the British admiral, a revolution had broken out. President Jaime Samuda had been shot during the fighting in the streets of the capital, Don Ramon Diaz and Don José Cordova, his principal lieutenants, were in the hands of the insurgents, and the last of the troops fighting for President Samuda had laid down their arms.
Eight bells, noon, was being sounded off when Peter went on board theRoyal Oakbearing a written acceptance of the British admiral's ultimatum.
At 2 p.m. the fleet stood towards San Antonio. An hour later, the Rioguayan colours on board the various warships were replaced by the White Ensign. The forts were taken over by British marines and the town patrolled by armed bluejackets.
That evening, Corbold and Cavendish, accompanied by Mackenzie, went ashore. The shops were open, electric tramcars were running, and the town was brilliantly lighted as usual. Everywhere the British seamen and marines were received not as conquerors, but as deliverers from the drastic rule of the dictator, President Samuda. Perhaps most of the demonstrations of friendship were simulated, but the inhabitants of San Antonio were certainly favourably impressed by the demeanour of the victors and by their generous terms.
"By Jove! I had no idea that this was such an up-to-date place," remarked Cavendish. "Everyone seems chock-a-block with prosperity. Why weren't the silly asses content? What possessed them to twist the tail of the British lion?"
"They were made to," explained Mackenzie. "It was the late President's idea."
"But surely they could have declined to risk their lives and property?" rejoined Cavendish.
"There were inducements," continued Mackenzie. "Samuda gave them to understand that Great Britain was a pigeon to be plucked. But apart from that, the President's will was law. The Czar of all the Russias in his day was not more autocratic. But they've learned a lesson."
"Are you remaining here?" asked Peter.
Mackenzie nodded.
"Yes," he replied slowly. "I am. I'm away home for a bit, though, but I'll be back before very long. There's money to be made in Rioguay after this trouble's over. And that mystery man—your Uncle Brian—I suppose he'll be out this way again? Or perhaps he's made enough out of his invention to retire into private life?"
"I don't think he'll come out to Rioguay," replied Peter. "He's had enough, I fancy. As for makingmoney out of the rays, that won't worry him very much. From what I know of him, he'll have a tip-top laboratory, wear any old clothes, and give away all his superfluous cash."
Cavendish was unusually quiet that evening. The unrestrained gaiety of the streets fascinated him. He could not understand why a people, only just beaten in war, should take so light-heartedly to amusements and rejoicing. The Rioguayans had discovered that there was far more liberty under the British flag than there had been under the late republic.
Suddenly there came the sound of men shouting in execration.
"What's that?" exclaimed Cavendish, his hand gripping the flap of his revolver holster. "Some of our men being knocked about?"
"No fear," replied Mackenzie reassuringly. "The Dagoes wouldn't risk doing that—even if they wanted to. Come on, let's see what the row's about."
A crowd taking up the whole width of the spacious Calle Almeira swept along, brandishing sticks and wavingsombrerosand yelling threats.
Standing on the steps of a café, the three chums could see a strong body of civil police forcing their way through the press. In the centre of the guards were three or four men looking horribly scared. They were bleeding from wounds in the head, caused by missiles hurled by the mob, who threatened to rush the none too determined police.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Peter. "There's Don Ramon Diaz."
It was. Ramon and the other principal officials of the late Government had been brought in from the capital to be tried at San Antonio. Even if they had a fair trial, which was doubtful, they were practically certain to be condemned and shot. That was one of the penalties of holding office in an unstable South American republic—autocratic power one day, degradation and a firing party the next. In the present case, it looked doubtful whether the prisoners could be taken through the mob, some of whom had just thrown noosed ropes over the electric lamp standards in the Plaza.
Gone was Ramon's sickly smile. It was the first time Peter had seen him without that sneering, fatuous grin. He was trembling violently and clinging desperately to the civil guard on his left.
"Poor blighter!" ejaculated Peter.
He was almost on the point of forcing his way through the mob to attempt to save Ramon from lynch law. But moderate counsel prevailed. He realized that in their present burst of frenzy, the crowd might murder him. He was willing to risk that possibility, but the result would destroy the amicable relations existing between the inhabitants of San Antonio and the British seamen and marines. The bloodshed that would ensue would be enormous, and perhaps the Rioguayans would make a desperate and prolonged resistance.
Yet, somehow, Peter couldn't stand by and watch his enemy being done to death.
Mackenzie was watching him covertly.
"Keep cool, laddie," he exclaimed. "There's an armed party coming up."
A British naval patrol and a picquet of marines, wearing shrapnel helmets, doubled up the street. A sharp word of command and the armed men formed two deep right across the Calle Almeira, motionless as statues.
"Order arms... fix bayonets!"
The click of steel and the clatter of rifle butts on the asphalt acted like a cold douche upon the hot-headed citizens of San Antonio. The forefront of the crowd retreated. Those in the rear, unable to see what was going on, pressed forward. Yet a strange silence fell upon the crowd.
The civil police, seizing their opportunity, hurried their prisoners forward right up to the steel-tipped line of British bluejackets and marines.
The officer in charge of the armed party was in a bit of a dilemma. Unable to understand a word, he tried to silence the now vociferous clamour of both prisoners and civil guards. He couldn't grasp the situation, being under the impression that the affair was an anti-British demonstration, while Don Ramon was in such a state of collapse that his fluent command of English failed him utterly.
Peter and Cavendish, followed by Mackenzie, went up to the officer, who happened to knowthe two former. Briefly Corbold explained the situation.
"Well, what can I do?" asked the officer in charge of the party. "These fellows aren't our prisoners. I can't take them away from the civil authority."
Peter turned to the non-commissioned officer of the Rioguayan police. The man stated that his orders were to take the prisoners to the town gaol for the night. They would be tried and shot before noon to-morrow, he added inconsequently.
"It's murder," declared Peter, conferring with the lieutenant of the landing-party. "Look here, can you detail half a dozen men? I'll take all responsibility and get the prisoners on board. After all's said and done, they aren't criminals, merely political prisoners."
"Get on with it then," was the reply, "and jolly good luck. Only, remember, I can't make theseopera bouffepolicemen give up their prisoners."
"I'll try, anyway," rejoined Peter.
Producing a buff-coloured paper with the Admiralty crest, Peter held it in front of the Rioguayancaporal.
"Here is your new President's authority that all political suspects under arrest are to be placed in British custody," he said brazenly.
The Rioguayan couldn't read. If he did and was able to understand English, he would have seen that the document was a receipted mess account. But it served its purpose.
"Sí, señor capitan," he replied, with a salute.
Ten minutes later, Don Ramon and his companionsin misfortune were seated in the stern-sheets of theRebound'spicket-boat. He was only too glad to enjoy the security afforded by the British navy that he had oft-times derided.
Standing beside the midshipman at the wheel of the picket-boat was Peter Corbold, ruminating with satisfaction upon the results of his jaunt ashore.
As the cool air of the river fanned his face, he rubbed his cheek vigorously.
"Wish the greasy blighter hadn't kissed me," he soliloquized, as he gave a backward glance at the smug features of Don Ramon Diaz.
During the next fortnight, events moved rapidly.
The new Government of Rioguay expressed its willingness to submit at discretion to the British arms and craved the clemency of the victors.
The terms were similar to those offered to San Antonio. All fortified posts in the republic were to be dismantled, together with armed ships-of-war and those of the flying-boats that had previously escaped capture. An indemnity of £6,000,000, payable either in negotiable bonds or in natural products of the republic, was demanded, to be delivered in instalments extending over five years. Until the indemnity was paid, a naval force was to remain at San Antonio, its upkeep being guaranteed by the Rioguayan Government.
Almost at the same time that the treaty was signed, Great Britain was able to mediate between the Associated Republic and the Empire of Hondo. It was a ticklish business—calming down the fierce little Asiatics without ruffling theiramour-propre. They had beaten the Associated Republic. The latter'snavy was practically wiped out, and the teeming millions of the Union were absolutely helpless. They could raise a huge army, but to what purpose? Possessing sea-power, Hondo, separated from her foe by the width of the Pacific, could and did defy the armed might of her antagonist.
Vainly the Associated Republic proposed arbitration, but arbitration is no good when an enemy is hammering, and hammering very forcibly, at one's gate. And the Asiatics still remembered with bitterness that the fruits of victory in times past had been taken from them by certain European Powers whom they could now ignore with impunity.
Even had she wished, Great Britain could not have intervened with armed force against Hondo on behalf of the Associated Republic. For one thing, she had not a sufficient fleet to operate with any likelihood of success in the distant Pacific. For another, Great Britain had no desire to make war, either on Hondo or any other nation, without good and just cause; and in the present instance there was none.
Now that the war clouds had dispersed, Lieutenant Peter Corbold began to ponder over his position. Taken back into the Royal Navy owing to the Rioguayan war, he was now faced with the possibility of having to "go on the beach" once more. It was not for pecuniary reasons that the prospect worried him. Apart from his share in the award by the Government for the "Strong anti-aircraft ray apparatus", he knew that, if necessity arose, he could exploit the Rioguayandiamond mine that Uncle Brian and he had discovered.
He was a sailor by inclination and instinct. The call of the Five Oceans was irresistible. The sea with its changing moods was an attraction that would never pall. And under the White Ensign, a life afloat was at its very best. It was bad enough, Peter reflected, to have been chucked out of the navy once. To have to repeat the experience was almost unbearable.
Following the signing of peace between Great Britain and Rioguay, theRebound,Repulse, andRetrench, together with a number of light cruisers and destroyers, were ordered home. TheRoyal Oakwas to remain for the present as Flagship to the South American squadron with its base at San Antonio.
On the afternoon prior to the day fixed for the departure of the homeward-bound warships, Peter was again ordered by signal to report on board theRoyal Oak.
"That means a telling off," he remarked to Cavendish. "I'm going to get it hot over that Don Ramon business."
"'Fraid so," agreed Cavendish. "To tell the truth, old thing, I wonder you weren't on the carpet long before this. Don't suppose I can do much, but if you want me to back you up, I'm only too willing."
Peter shook his head.
"Best keep out of it," he replied. "The Admiral can't do much, considering I'm due to get slung out any old way."
But Peter Corbold was woefully adrift. The Admiral received him quite cordially.
"My flag-lieutenant has received his promotion," he announced. "I'm looking out for someone I can recommend for the billet, someone with a good knowledge of the Rioguayan language. You, I think, Mr. Corbold, will suit me."
"But I'm holding a temporary commission, sir," explained Peter.
"Rubbish!" declared the Admiral breezily. "There'll be no officer sacked on reduction. You can take my word for that. The Admiralty will want every trained officer they can lay their hands on with this expansion of the navy stunt coming on. Now, then, what do you say? Shall I send your name forward for appointment? Matter of form only, of course."
"Thanks awfully, sir," mumbled Peter. He was too taken aback to answer coherently. Usually cool and self-possessed, his sudden stroke of good luck had metaphorically taken the wind out of his sails.
"Very good, then," continued the Admiral. "We'll leave it at that for the present. Maynebrace, my flag-lieutenant, won't be turning over for a bit, so carry on on board theRebound. When you get home, take a month's leave. TheStylexis ordered to this station on the 25th of next month: you'd better come out in her.... Oh, by the by, you brought off some refugees, I understand?"
"Yes, sir," admitted Peter.
"Glad you did," resumed the Commander-in-Chief."The President wrote me requesting that I should give them up. I told him pretty plainly that it's not wise for the under-dog to kick, and that the refugees were political prisoners who had found a shelter under the British flag. The President can whistle for them. They're on their way to Jamaica by now. All right, Mr. Corbold, carry on."
Peter "carried on". With a light heart and feeling that he was treading on air (in his joy he very nearly did as he went over the side), he returned on board theRebound, was told that he was a lucky dog, and on the strength of it had to stand champagne all round the ward-room.
At nine next morning, the three battleships, with the signal requesting permission to proceed, shortened in their cables. The answering flags fluttered from the yard-arm of theRoyal Oak.
With bands playing and men lining the sides, the battle-scarred ships steamed slowly past the Flagship. Then, to the strain of ringing cheers, theReboundand her consorts stood down the river, on their homeward voyage across the Atlantic.
Ten days later, theRebound, her gaping wounds temporarily patched, steamed between the Round Tower and Blockhouse Fort, guarding the entrance to Portsmouth Harbour. Gosport Beach, Portsmouth Point, and Portsea Hard were black with people, who cheered to the echo the home-coming ship that had won credit and renown in the battle with the Rioguayan navy.
Then, with a powerful tug straining at her bow hawsers and another following discreetly astern, theReboundglided slowly past the South Railway Jetty, and "opened out" the tapering masts of the veteranVictory.
Peter remembered the last occasion when he entered Portsmouth Harbour, and the comparison was a pleasant one. Then he was, as he imagined, going on the beach once and for all. Now he was safely re-embarked upon a career after his own heart. Then the huge slipway was bare. Now it was taken up with the keel-plates of a mammoth battleship—the first of Britain's new navy. The dockyard was teeming with life and activity. The ceaseless rattle of pneumatic tools once more filled the air. The huge electric cranes were again endowed with movement. Thousands of busy workmen swarmed everywhere.
Trade was already "following the Flag", as it had done in times past. Mercantile shipping was reviving steadily, without the deplorable prospect of a "boom" and its disastrous consequences. Iron and steel workers were getting into their stride; the coal industry was looking up. There was every indication of an era of peace and prosperity.
And the reason was not far to seek. Britain had at last a definite policy. No longer was she content to "toe the line" at the behest of a party of international politicians assembled at Washington. She was determined to regain her rightful position as Mistress of the Seas. Without acting harshly towardsher weaker neighbours, anxious to keep peace on the principle of the "strong man armed", Britain was much in the position of a big and tolerant brother keeping his brothers and sisters in order.
As soon as theReboundpaid off, Peter Corbold journeyed up to town after a hurried but comprehensive visit to a Portsmouth firm of naval outfitters. At the Admiralty he obtained official confirmation of his appointment as Flag-lieutenant, and also obtained the information that Sir Brian Strong (with K.C.B. and a dozen other titles tacked on to his name), was living in retirement near Bournemouth.
That same evening, Peter went down to his uncle's house, a small, unassuming villa overlooking Poole Harbour. Although the hour was late, he found Uncle Brian in overalls, working in a laboratory that for area completely eclipsed the dwelling-house.
"You're wrong in your surmise, Peter," observed Sir Brian, during the course of conversation. "I'm paying a flying visit to Rioguay. I'll probably be out there before you. Yes, it's concerning the diamond valley. I've obtained a concession from the new President, and I've formed a Limited Company. You're one of the principal shareholders, Peter—but we'll go into that matter presently. So I'm just off to introduce the Works Manager to the place, although in point of fact I'm rather keen to see the scene of our exploit again."
Peter nodded.
"Wish you luck, Uncle," he said, "but thankgoodness I'm not flying. Had quite enough of that; blue water's much safer. But it was a great stroke of yours—the rays invention."
"It was," agreed Sir Brian gravely. "But come this way."
He took his nephew to a corner of the laboratory where stood a simple yet ingenious device.
"That was my emergency gadget," he announced, after explaining the mechanism.
Peter looked at it long and anxiously. Then he turned to his uncle.
"Better sling it in the ditch before there's any harm done," he said seriously.
Sir Brian chuckled.
"That's exactly what I mean to do," he replied. "Give me a hand with the thing."
Together they carried the latest creation of Sir Brian's brain out of the laboratory down the sloping lawn to a small pier.
In the bright moonlight, Peter saw a small dinghy made fast to the steps. Into the stern-sheet of the boat the gadget was placed. Uncle Brian sat aft, while Peter cast off and took the oars.
It was now slack tide and first high water.
With steady stroke, Peter urged the dinghy along, while Sir Brian steered for the High Light at Sandbanks.
"This will do," he observed, when the white section changed to red. "Right in the middle of the channel. It's a good fifty feet down. Steady, Peter, mind thegunwale; it was varnished only yesterday.... Let go!"
With a sullen splash, the "box of tricks" disappeared from sight. Sir Brian sat gazing at the ever-increasing circles in the moonlit water.
He sat up with the air of a man who has taken a critical step and is well satisfied with the result. Then, in a barely audible voice, he quoted:
"Let us be back'd with God, and with the seasWhich He hath given for fence impregnable,And with their helps only defend ourselves;In them and in ourselves our safety lies."
PRINTED AND BOUND IN GREAT BRITAINBy Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow
PRINTED AND BOUND IN GREAT BRITAINBy Blackie & Son, Limited, Glasgow
Transcriber's Notes:This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprints have been corrected:[find out how Don Jose]—>[find out how Don José]["By jove!" he almost shouted]—>["By Jove!" he almost shouted](Several other instances of "jove" have been corrected to "Jove" but are not further mentioned here)[Senor Jaurez grinned]—>[Señor Jaurez grinned][shooting trip up the Rioguaya]—>[shooting trip up the Rio Guaya](There is a difference between the country-name and its river)['Spose it's all right,]—>[S'pose it's all right,]['spose the Tower of Babel]—>[s'pose the Tower of Babel][subsiduary]—>[subsidiary][there were compensate- [162] tions.]—>[there were compensa- [162] tions.][knifelike bows]—>[knife-like bows][antiaircraft gun, they]—>[anti-aircraft gun, they][indispensibility]—>[indispensability][the wreck of the foretop]—>[the wreck of the fore-top][separating the wardroom]—>[separating the ward-room]The word [wolfhound] is also found spelled as [wolf-hound]. Both versions are found multiple times. No correction was made.A few other cases of punctuation errors were corrected, but are not mentioned here.Unfortunately one illustration is missing. It is marked in the illustrations-list and at the position where it should be, with the text: [(missing from book)].
This book contains a number of misprints.The following misprints have been corrected:[find out how Don Jose]—>[find out how Don José]["By jove!" he almost shouted]—>["By Jove!" he almost shouted](Several other instances of "jove" have been corrected to "Jove" but are not further mentioned here)[Senor Jaurez grinned]—>[Señor Jaurez grinned][shooting trip up the Rioguaya]—>[shooting trip up the Rio Guaya](There is a difference between the country-name and its river)['Spose it's all right,]—>[S'pose it's all right,]['spose the Tower of Babel]—>[s'pose the Tower of Babel][subsiduary]—>[subsidiary][there were compensate- [162] tions.]—>[there were compensa- [162] tions.][knifelike bows]—>[knife-like bows][antiaircraft gun, they]—>[anti-aircraft gun, they][indispensibility]—>[indispensability][the wreck of the foretop]—>[the wreck of the fore-top][separating the wardroom]—>[separating the ward-room]The word [wolfhound] is also found spelled as [wolf-hound]. Both versions are found multiple times. No correction was made.A few other cases of punctuation errors were corrected, but are not mentioned here.Unfortunately one illustration is missing. It is marked in the illustrations-list and at the position where it should be, with the text: [(missing from book)].
[find out how Don José]
["By Jove!" he almost shouted](Several other instances of "jove" have been corrected to "Jove" but are not further mentioned here)
[Señor Jaurez grinned]
[shooting trip up the Rio Guaya](There is a difference between the country-name and its river)
[S'pose it's all right,]
[s'pose the Tower of Babel]
[subsidiary]
[there were compensa- [162] tions.]
[knife-like bows]
[anti-aircraft gun, they]
[indispensability]
[the wreck of the fore-top]
[separating the ward-room]