"HEAVY firing, sir," remarked Commander Bourne to his superior officer.
"You're right," assented Captain and Acting Commodore Staggers. "It's about time we had a wireless report."
"Nothing has come through yet, sir," said Bourne.
Surrounded by a group of officers Captain Staggers stood upon the battlements of Fort Belgrano, on the landward side of the town of Zandovar. Away to the eastward, and only just discernible in the heated atmosphere, was the city of Naocuanha. Beyond the capital there was nothing to be seen, save at sunset when the peaks of the far-distant Sierras showed rosy-pink against the gloom of approaching night.
"The seaplanes ought to be returning," remarked Captain Staggers for the sixth time in half an hour. He was unable to conceal an anxiety for the naval aircraft that, two hours previously, had proceeded to the assistance of the handicapped "Meteor."
Drawn up just outside the fort was every available man who could be landed from the fleet: one thousand seamen and five hundred Marines, with the usual quota of light quick-firers and maxims. Why the men were there under arms none of them knew; they could only conjecture. Once again there was work to be done and they meant to do it right well, to wipe off the slur upon British prestige caused by the capture of Admiral Maynebrace and his staff.
"Speak to the 'Royal Oak,' Mr. Eccles, and ask if there's any news," continued the Captain.
Away doubled the lieutenant to the signalling station, only to return within five minutes with the disconcerting report that the battleship had not been able to "pick up" the "Meteor" by wireless.
"Seaplanes returning, sir!" announced the Commander, whose attention had been drawn to the fact by a petty officer.
"How many?" demanded the Captain abruptly, his anxiety causing him to drop his customary courtesy.
"Only three, sir."
"Only three? Good heavens! Only three."
Captain Staggers set his jaw firmly. Was he to hear of another reverse? Where was the "Meteor"—the Dreadnought of the Air? Had she fallen a victim to the fire of the batteries of Naocuanha?
Flying with mathematical precision the three seaplanes alighted practically simultaneously upon a level expanse of ground on the landward side of Fort Belgrano. Under ordinary circumstances etiquette would demand that the subordinate should approach the senior officer, but casting observances to the winds Captain Staggers, holding his scabbard to prevent his sword from impeding his progress, ran towards the returned airmen.
"Five of the Valderian biplanes destroyed, sir." reported the senior lieutenant of the air squadron. "All that opposed us. G1 and G3 of ours are done for. G4 is badly damaged, but her crew are safe."
"And the 'Meteor'?" asked the Captain anxiously.
"Is standing by to the east of Naocuanha, sir. I understand that there are some British subjects, assisted by a part of the airship's crew and some of the late President's adherents, holding the Cavarale. Captain Whittinghame suggests that if an attack be made as soon as possible, while the Valderian troops are still demoralized by the destruction of their aircraft, we may be able to capture the capital without great loss."
"And where is Admiral Maynebrace?"
"I do not know, sir. Captain Whittinghame gave me no information on that point, so I concluded that he is with the party holding the Cavarale."
"Gentlemen," said Captain Staggers, turning to his officers who accompanied him, "I propose to make a reconnaissance in force immediately, and, if practicable, to deliver an assault upon Fort San Josef. If our efforts in that direction are successful, we shall hold the key of the position."
In spite of their protests the officers and crews of the seaplanes were ordered to stand by. Their places were taken by others who were fresh to undergo the trying ordeal, and the hard-worked aircraft having been given a rapid overhaul, they set off on their task of searching the intervening country in case the Valderians should offer resistance to the advance of the Naval brigade.
In sections of fours the British force set out on its seven mile march to Naocuanha, the advance covered by the seaplanes and well flanked by strong parties of Marines. The railroad had been torn up, and the rolling-stock destroyed before the evacuation of Zandovar by the Valderians, but the wide and fairly well-kept road rendered the advance practicable and speedy.
"'Meteor' heading due north, sir," exclaimed Commander Bourne, as the huge bulk of the airship, looking little larger than a needle, was observed to be making off at full speed in the direction the Commander had stated.
"What's the matter with her, I wonder?" asked Captain Staggers. "I thought she was to operate on the east side of Naocuanha? By sheering off she leaves the Valderian troops free to devote the whole of their attention to us."
"I don't know, sir," replied Bourne, "Perhaps——"
His surmise was never expressed in words, for even as he spoke, the "Meteor," having put a safe distance between her and the batteries of the capital, swung round and made for the town of Zandovar.
"Pass the word for the men to halt," ordered the captain, who was regarding the approaching mammoth with ill-disguised wonderment and admiration, for in spite of the fact that two hundred odd feet had been taken from her original length, she still appeared the embodiment of size, power and speed.
The seamen and Marines grounded arms and watched the Dreadnought of the Air with the deepest interest. She had spotted the advancing force, and starboarding her helm was making in the direction of the column.
Her propellers stopped; she lost way, then, slowly sinking, alighted on level ground at less than a hundred and fifty yards from the place where Captain Staggers and his staff were standing.
There was no wind, consequently there was no need to anchor. The "Meteor," now possessing a dead weight of ten or twelve tons, sat firmly upon Valderian soil.
"Captain Whittinghame, I presume?" asked the Commodore as he approached within convenient talking distance of the airship.
"The same," answered Vaughan. "I am in a hurry, sir; I have left several of my men in an exposed position at the Cavarale, so I must quickly return. The city of Naocuanha ought to be taken with but little trouble. Meanwhile, sir, I shall be glad if you will receive some of my passengers—Rear-Admiral Maynebrace, his staff and others."
Captain Staggers literally gasped. The fact that his superior had been rescued by the "Meteor" was quite unexpected news, for he had misinterpreted Whittinghame's appeal for the seaplanes to be sent to the airship's aid. Before he could recover from his astonishment the rope ladder was dropped from the entry-port and the Admiral's burly form was seen to be slowly descending the swaying means of communication with terra-firma.
A spontaneous cheer burst from the throats of the men as they saw their Admiral returned to them. In spite of the slight disappointment that they were not able to wipe off the slur and retrieve their commanding officer, the seamen and marines were more than willing to recognize the excellent work accomplished by the Dreadnought of the Air.
"Will you continue the advance, sir?" asked Captain Staggers, after the Admiral and his staff, the two Frenchmen, and the two men of the trader had descended.
"Certainly," replied Admiral Maynebrace. "There's nothing like striking while the iron's hot. That airship wiped out Fort Volador by a single charge of explosive. And there's news, Staggers, but I'll tell you later. Look, the 'Meteor' is ascending."
With the least possible delay the airship returned to continue her self-imposed task of threatening the city on the eastern side; while the naval brigade resumed its march.
Having received from Captain Staggers the plan of operations and duly approved his subordinate's dispositions for the attack, Rear-Admiral Maynebrace started a breezy narrative of his captivity in the Cavarale.
"And one day I was surprised to see an Englishman enter my cell. That man was Dacres."
"Dacres?" echoed Captain Staggers, completely taken aback. "Dacres in the Valderian service?" For, although the name of Captain Vaughan Whittinghame had been communicated to the officers of the squadron operating off the Valderian coast, the Admiralty had given no information to the effect that ex-Sub-lieutenant Dacres formed one of the "Meteor's" complement.
"Yes, Dacres," declared Admiral Maynebrace. But not in the Valderian service—far from it. The youngster managed to get hold of an appointment under Captain Whittinghame. At considerable risk he managed to communicate with me. Later on the airship landed a handful of her crew under Dacres' command in the Cavarale in the dead of night. They overpowered the garrison, rescued the British officers and sent them off in the 'Meteor'."
"Capital!" ejaculated the Captain.
"More than that—it shows Dacres' devotion—the 'Meteor' being unable to take us all, he volunteered to remain in the captured prison with his men, and by a cool piece of work he made a prisoner of——"
"The commandante of the Cavarale?" hazarded Captain Staggers.
"Yes, and President Zaypuru as well," added Admiral Maynebrace enthusiastically. "Staggers, I made a great mistake when I told young Dacres to send in his papers. We must have him back."
"We must, sir," said the Captain of the "Royal Oak" wholeheartedly. "That is, if he's agreeable. Dacres always appeared to me to be rather independent."
"Wish to goodness he hadn't played that practical joke on my midshipmen," growled Admiral Maynebrace.
Further conversation was for the time being out of the question, for the brigade was now almost within range of the batteries of Naocuanha.
A strange silence seemed to hang over the capital. There were no signs of movement. Through the field-glasses of the British officers Naocuanha appeared to be a city of the dead. There was not the slightest indication of an attempt about to be made by the superiorly numerical Valderian troops to dispute the advance.
"Wish those beggars would start firing," muttered the Admiral. "A silence like that seems suggestive of an ambuscade. Any report from the seaplanes?"
"G2 and G6 both report no signs of the batteries being manned, sir," announced Lieutenant Eccles.
"Then continue the advance in open order. Maxims in the centre, and quick-firers to cover the advance on either flank. What a rotten country, Staggers! Not a particle of cover."
Silently the attackers extended, then with six feet separating one man from another, the bluejackets and marines approached the frowning walls of Fort San Josef.
Suddenly a succession of short reports burst from seaplane G5. She had opened fire upon some object, still invisible to the attackers on the remote side of the fort.
For quite half a minute there was no reply from the Valderian position; then right and left came the sharp crackle of musketry punctuated by the bark of quick-firers.
Taking a prone position on the grass the British seamen and marines opened a steady fire upon their unseen foes, while the covering guns sent shell after shell into Fort San Josef, over which floated the flag of the republic.
"What's that?" asked Admiral Maynebrace as a report received from G6 was handed to him. "Fort San Josef evacuated? Tell the quick-firers to search the ground to the right and left and not waste time and ammunition on an empty building. By Jove! what's the matter with G5?"
He might well ask that question, for the seaplane was descending with alarming rapidity and apparently right upon the Valderian position. The attackers, seeing her glide earthwards, promptly directed their fire elsewhere, but the devoted G5 was plunging through the zone of fire of the enemy.
"She's disabled, sir," exclaimed Captain Staggers. "Look, there she goes."
The seaplane disappeared behind Fort San Josef. Her two consorts, disdainful of the fate which had overtaken her, still flew serenely over the Valderian lines, occasionally dropping bombs, but more frequently reporting the effect of the fire of the British field-guns.
"What's that?" demanded Captain Staggers, grasping his superior officer's arm in his eagerness. "Look, sir, at the fort."
Standing upon the ramparts and showing clearly against the skyline was a man in naval uniform. Rapidly he uncleated the halliards of the flagstaff and hauled down the Valderian flag. Then, even as he waved his white-covered cap in triumph, he suddenly pitched forward on his face and rolled inertly down the steep face of the earthworks.
"It's Vine, the pilot of G5, sir," said Bourne.
Enraged by the lieutenant's fall the attackers implored the officers to be allowed to storm the position. The men were like hounds in leash, eager to vent their fury upon their foes.
But Admiral Maynebrace hesitated. The significance of Fort San Josef offering no active resistance was ominous.
Up dashed a sub-lieutenant.
"G2 reports safe to advance, sir," he said.
"Fort San Josef is mined, but G5 destroyed the firing station and has cut the wires."
The Admiral hesitated no longer. Along the line the officers' whistles sounded the advance. Up from the cover afforded by the grass sprang hundreds of figures in khaki and blue. A regular clatter followed the order to fix bayonets, and at the double the gallant men raced towards their goal.
In spite of the covering fire from the British guns the Valderian troops to the right and left of the deserted fort maintained a hot fusillade. Enfiladed by the converging volleys the British suffered severely, the ground being dotted with dead and dying. Yet, undaunted, the stormers passed on, threw themselves into the dry ditch, and clambered up the steep ramp beyond. The more active of the attackers assisted those who experienced difficulty in negotiating the slippery slope. Marines and bluejackets, without any apparent semblance of order, vied with each other in the race to gain possession of the coveted position, till a ringing British cheer announced to the Admiral and his staff that Fort San Josef was in the occupation of his gallant men.
While the Union Jack was hoisted over the captured position, the bluejackets rushed to the guns to turn them upon the Valderian troops who had so severely galled the advance; but to their disappointment and rage they discovered that the breech-blocks had previously been removed.
In spite of the danger from the hostile bullets that were singing over the earthworks a signalman stood erect and semaphored for the guns to be brought up.
Two brawny bluejackets, each staggering under the weight of a Maxim, successfully crossed the danger-zone, while four man-hauled quick-firers were ordered to the fort.
At the double the guns were dragged across the open plain. Several of the men at the drag-ropes fell, but, undaunted, their comrades maintained the hot pace. The dry-ditch they made light of. In twenty seconds each gun was unlimbered and dismantled. The lighter parts, passed from hand to hand, were taken up the ramp; the heavier gear, hauled by willing hands, quickly followed.
To the tap, tap, tap of the Maxims was added the sharp bark of the quick-firers, and, swept by the hail of projectiles, the Valderian troops bolted precipitately. Outside the city they could not go, for hovering overhead was the "Meteor," and the fate of Fort Volador was still fresh in the minds of the beaten side.
At exactly three o'clock—one hour and twenty minutes from the opening of the assault—the city of Naocuanha surrendered at discretion.
"SAY, Dacres, old man, here's something that will interest you," remarked Vaughan Whittinghame, handing his comrade and able assistant a letter that had just been delivered by a marine orderly.
Dacres took the missive. The familiar heading on the envelope, "On His Majesty's Service," recalled the days not long since when he was one of the officers of the ship whence the letter came.
Drawing out the enclosure Dacres, with considerable difficulty, deciphered the crabbed handwriting of Rear-Admiral Maynebrace. That officer had written requesting the pleasure of the company of Captain Whittinghame and Mr. Basil Dacres on board the flagship at three p.m.
"Well?" asked Whittinghame in his usual manner. "Going?"
"I hardly know what to say, sir. I suppose you will accept the invitation?"
"Yes. If it were a mere formal affair I would decline, but I have reason to believe that the Admiral wishes to consult us with reference to the submarine plans. It's not a matter of etiquette exactly, but an affair of national importance, so I think you'd better decide to go with me."
The "Meteor" was lying afloat in Zandovar Harbour. Beyond the low-lying spit of sand that narrowed the entrance to less than three hundred yards could be seen the British warships lying in the open roadstead.
Two days had elapsed since the fall of Naocuanha. A provisional government had been set up in Valderia, and Señor Juan Desiro, a distant relative of the late President San Bonetta, had been nominated as acting president. The terms imposed by the British Admiral had been accepted, and the Valderians regarded the inevitable changes with comparative equanimity. The garrison of La Paz had taken the oath of allegiance to the new ruler, and with amazing rapidity the republic settled down to make the best of a hard bargain.
Ex-President Diego Zaypuru, after being officially deposed, was glad to avail himself of an offer by the British Admiral to be given a passage to a far-distant land, where, with the bulk of the riches he had amassed, he would be able to live in comparative peace and plenty.
Antoine de la Fosse, with his two sons, also shook the dust of Valderia from his feet. Henri had made rapid progress towards recovery. His wounds were healing satisfactorily, and as no signs of fever were detected, the British medical officers expressed an opinion that he could with safety undertake a sea voyage.
So the de la Fosse family, well rewarded for the parts they had played so well in the capture of the Cavarale, had been given a generous grant and a free passage to Cherbourg, and had left early that morning by a Peruvian mailboat en route for Panama.
Already a wireless message from the British Admiralty had been sent through the Admiral expressing thanks and due appreciation to the gallant captain of the "Meteor," and Rear-Admiral Maynebrace had communicated the news in person. Now, following his official visits to the Dreadnought of the Air, came an invitation for Captain Whittinghame and Dacres to repair on board the flagship.
At half-past two the Admiral's motor-barge was observed to be entering the inner harbour. In the sternsheets was a flag-lieutenant resplendent in full-dress uniform, his duty being to escort the Admiral's guests to the "Repulse."
As soon as the boat came alongside the "Meteor," Captain Whittinghame and Dacres, in their neat and serviceable uniforms, went over the side and took their places in the waiting craft.
The visit was understood to be a purely unofficial one, but the British bluejackets, always eager to recognize a brave act, were not to be denied. As the barge approached the flagship the shrill trills of the bos'n's whistle rang out. In a moment the upper decks and superstructure of the warship were black with humanity, and the waters of Zandovar Bay echoed and re-echoed to three deep, hearty cheers that only Britons can do full justice to.
Dexterously the barge was brought alongside the "Repulse's" accommodation ladder. Whittinghame stepped out of the barge, and, followed by his companion, ascended to the quarter-deck. As Dacres mounted the steps he could not help recalling the previous time he visited the flagship. Then it was with heavy heart and the well-founded presentiment that there was trouble in store for him. Now he was the guest of the very man who had "broken him."
Then to Dacres' surprise the "pipe side" was sounded by the bos'n's mate, and a serjeants' guard drawn up on the quarter-deck presented arms. These marks of respect were, according to the King's Regulations, to be given to captains of H.M. ships in uniform. Why, then, had the regulation been officially ignored?
After being received by the Commander and the officers of the watch, Whittinghame and Dacres were shown below to the Admiral's cabin.
Rear-Admiral Maynebrace was not alone. The other occupant of the cabin was Dacres' old chief, Captain Staggers.
"Sit down, my dear Whittinghame, and you, too, Dacres," exclaimed the Admiral genially, as he drew a green curtain over the cabin door in order to balk any curiosity that the marine sentry without might develop. "We may as well proceed at once to business. I believe, Captain Whittinghame, that on the eve of your departure from England you were given honorary rank of captain in His Majesty's fleet?"
"I believe that was so," he replied.
This was indeed news to Dacres, but it was only one of a series of surprises.
"My Lords also stipulated, should events justify all that was claimed for your wonderful aircraft, that they would be entitled to buy the 'Meteor' into the Royal Navy?"
Again Whittinghame nodded assent.
"It is almost needless to say," continued Admiral Maynebrace, "that their expectations have been fully realized. The amount agreed upon has been deposited at your bankers, Captain Whittinghame. Moreover, I am empowered to offer you a full commission as commanding officer of H.M. Airship 'Meteor.'"
"I am afraid Their Lordships are a bit premature," said Whittinghame. "If I remember aright the terms of the proposal were that the 'Meteor' was to be purchased on her return from a successful mission."
"But surely you consider the part you played in the Valderian business a successful piece of work?"
"I suppose so," admitted the captain of the "Meteor."
"Then why hesitate?"
"Because I have not yet completed the work on which I am engaged. The 'Meteor' came to Valderia for three objects. Firstly, to co-operate with the British fleet and destroy the 'Libertad.' That has been done. Secondly, to liberate my brother from Zaypuru's power. That, also, is an accomplished fact. Thirdly—and from a national point of view, the most important object—the recovery of the stolen plans of the submarines. In that respect my work is still unfinished."
"I trust you will be equally successful, Captain Whittinghame. When do you propose to resume your quest?"
"Almost at once. Allowing for the slow method of travelling across the Voyocama Desert, Durango ought to be on the verge of it in two days' time. I propose to take the 'Meteor' to Salto Augusto to-morrow and watch developments."
"But that is Brazilian territory," objected Admiral Maynebrace.
"Quite so," admitted Whittinghame, "but Durango is an outlaw. Three days ago I received intimation that the British Ambassador at Rio was successful in obtaining permission from the Brazilian Government for his arrest. Directly Durango sets foot in Salto Augusto he will be detained by the authorities, extradited, and placed on board the 'Meteor' to be brought back to England."
"I hope it comes off," said the Admiral.
"So do I, sir, especially if we find the submarine plans in Durango's possession."
"To get back to the subject of the purchase of the 'Meteor,' Captain Whittinghame. I presume you are still willing to sell her to the government as soon as Durango is made a prisoner?"
"Certainly," replied Whittinghame rather stiffly. "I never go back on my word. But there is one point I should like to raise—how will my officers and men be affected by the change of ownership?"
"That is just what I was about to mention," said Rear-Admiral Maynebrace, glancing at Dacres. "I have here a copy of the Admiralty wireless message. The proposal is, should you be willing to accept the proffered commission, Captain Whittinghame, that your crew should be transferred en bloc to Admiralty service, provided that they are agreeable. I presume Mr. Dacres has informed you of the circumstances under which he left the Navy? I thought so. Well, Mr. Dacres, apart from the great personal service which you rendered me, your conduct during these operations has been praiseworthy. I regret most deeply that I took the drastic step I did when you played a somewhat unwise joke upon the midshipmen of the flagship. Had you expressed regret, Mr. Dacres, I might have overlooked it, or let you off with a severe reprimand."
"But I wasn't asked to express regret, sir."
"You had the opportunity," remarked the Admiral drily. "However, I have tendered my apologies in front of Captain Staggers and Captain Whittinghame, and I trust that you will accept them."
"I do, sir."
"I propose sending a further report to the Admiralty on the subject," continued the Admiral, "and asking whether they will give orders for your name to be restored to the Navy List. I trust that will be agreeable to you, Mr. Dacres?"
"One minute, sir," interrupted Whittinghame. "I am about to impart a piece of information of which Dacres has hitherto been in ignorance. His name was never removed from the Navy List."
"What!" ejaculated the Admiral and Dacres simultaneously.
"Fact," exclaimed Whittinghame. "I brought the case before the notice of Admiral Sir Hardy Staplers on the eve of our dash for the North Pole. Sir Hardy transmitted my request to the Admiralty, and I was informed that Mr. Dacres' resignation was to be annulled, and he was to retain his rank while serving in the 'Meteor.' Thus, before the removal of Dacres' name from the Navy List was notified, his commission was restored. Owing to my fear that I might lose the services of a very able assistant I suggested to Sir Hardy that Dacres should for the time being be kept in ignorance of what had transpired, and to this he agreed."
Dacres tried to speak but failed. There was a strange sensation in his throat. He felt tempted to dance for sheer joy even in the sanctity of the Admiral's cabin. He was still entitled to wear the uniform of the Royal Navy.
"Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Dacres," said the Admiral, rising and extending his hand.
"And me, also," added Captain Staggers. "I wish for some reasons that you were reappointed to the 'Royal Oak.'"
"I had a good time under you, sir," was the sub's non-committal form of reply.
"There is yet another point," continued Whittinghame. He was enjoying himself. His face beamed with satisfaction. To heap pleasurable surprises on others was one of his chief delights. "According to the terms offered by My Lords, of which you have just informed me, my officers and men were to be transferred to the Royal Navy, provided they were willing to serve."
"That is so," agreed the Admiral, tapping a folded document on the table.
"Without reduction of rank?"
"Certainly; that is expressly stated."
"Then, take for example the case of Dacres. He is my chief officer, a rank, I take it, that corresponds to first lieutenant in the Navy."
"It's rather rapid promotion," remarked the Admiral. "Scores of men have waited years to obtain that rank. But, by Jove, Dacres! you jolly well deserve it. I am afraid, though, yours is a special case. I shall have to raise the point."
"If Mr. Dacres is not promoted to that rank I'm afraid I shall have something to say very strongly on the subject, sir," declared Whittinghame. "Perhaps I had better delay the acceptance of my commission pending definite information as to Mr. Dacres' status."
"I do not doubt that it will be all right," said the Admiral.
"I prefer to wait, however," added Whittinghame firmly.
"Very well," asserted the Admiral, "we'll leave it at that. I don't suppose for an instant that there will be any objections raised by the Admiralty, but, you see, I haven't authority to act in the case. For the present, then, Mr. Dacres is still a sub-lieutenant in His Majesty's Navy."
"THERE is one thing I didn't mention to the Admiral," remarked Whittinghame on his way back to the airship. "It has been worrying me somewhat. The 'Meteor's' supply of ultra-hydrogen is running low."
"I thought so too, sir," said Dacres. "We've had quite a series of accidents."
"And we cannot risk another mishap with equanimity," added Whittinghame. "Even under the best conditions we must be back in England before the next fortnight; otherwise we must remain here until we get a fresh supply from home. If, in the event of—Hulloa! The 'Meteor' seems to be lower in the water than when we left her."
Whittinghame's surmise was quite correct. The airship was floating with a pronounced list to starboard and slightly down by the stern.
"Anything wrong?" he demanded briskly as he ascended the swaying ladder and gained the interior of the "Meteor."
"Yes, sir," answered Setchell. "There's a leak in No. 5 compartment. We have located it, and exhausted the ultra-hydrogen from the three sub-divisions affected."
"It's lucky that the gas wasn't wasted," remarked the Captain. "The ballonette sub-divisions are flooded, I presume?"
"Yes, sir, a fairly large hole, I should think. We tried compressed air, but could not expel the water."
"Shall we lift her and ascertain the extent of the damage?" asked the sub.
Whittinghame shook his head.
"It's my belief that some rascally agent of Durango has been at work," he said. "If we rise we shall create suspicion in his mind, and frighten him away. Now we know we can take steps to protect ourselves accordingly. I'll ask the flagship to lend us a couple of divers. Fortunately the damage is easily repaired provided we save the ultra-hydrogen."
"I'll go down, sir," volunteered Dacres, "and Callaghan will accompany me."
"I'll be delighted to accept your offer," said Whittinghame gratefully. "I'd go myself only I've had no experience in submarine work of any description. Mr. Setchell, will you please signal the 'Repulse' and ask the loan of two Restronguet diving-suits?"
Callaghan expressed his willingness to accompany the sub. The Irishman had been a first-class seaman-diver in the Royal Navy, and, although unaccustomed to the modern diving-dress, could be relied upon to do his work thoroughly.
Without delay a motor pinnace from the flagship came alongside, bringing the required apparatus. The Restronguet diving-dress, the invention of the late owner of the famous submarine, "Aphrodite," had been generally adopted by the Royal Navy.
The dress was entirely self-contained, the chemically-charged air-supply being carried in metal cylinders attached to the diver, while airtubes and life-lines were no longer required.
The sub was well acquainted with the Restronguet diving-dress, and it required only a brief explanation to acquaint Callaghan with its simple peculiarities.
"Another sub-division flooded, sir," announced Setchell.
"The rascal, or rascals, must be still at work, by Jove!" ejaculated Whittinghame. "Have your knives ready in case there's any resistance."
"We have something better than that, sir," said Dacres, holding up an instrument resembling a tuning-fork. "These are issued with the diving-suits in case the divers are attacked by sharks or human beings."
"What is it?" asked Whittinghame curiously.
"Be careful, sir," cautioned the sub as his chief stretched out his hand to take hold of the weapon. "It is electrically charged, and will temporarily paralyse any living thing it touches with these two barbs. My friend Commander Hythe had a dose of it once. He said he will never forget it. It simply knocked all the stuffing out of him."
"A good substitute for the 'cat,' then," commented Whittinghame. "Now, all ready?"
The metal headpieces were placed over the wearer's heads and clamped on to the collar-plates. The two men, deprived of the outside air, were now dependent solely upon the supply contained in the portable reservoirs.
Dacres led the way. Shuffling awkwardly to the entry port he made his way slowly down the ladder till the water reached to his shoulders. Then releasing his hold he sank gently to the bed of the Zandovar Harbour.
Fortunately there were no tidal currents. The bottom was composed of fine gravel and sand, and practically destitute of marine growth. The depth being less than thirty feet, the brilliant sunshine penetrated the clear water with very little loss of intensity.
The sub waited till the Irishman joined him, then pointed significantly towards the after end of the floating airship, whose rounded hull could be traced through almost its entire length.
Callaghan raised his hand to signify assent, and slowly the two divers made their way aft.
Suddenly Dacres came to a dead stop. His quick eye detected a foreign movement. In the deep shadow cast by the lower horizontal plane a man in a diving-dress was at work. An air-tube and life-line showed that the villainous diver was equipped with an old-fashioned apparatus, but the question was, how far was he working from his air-supply? Was he alone?
Cautiously Dacres and his companion approached, but before they could get within striking-distance the bubble caused by the escaping air from the valves in the helmets gave the alarm. The fellow, dropping a large drill with which he had been studiously employed, slid off the flange on which he had been seated and gained the bed of the harbour.
Evidently his chief aim was flight, for he made his way off as fast as he could, his life-line and airtube trailing in an ever-increasing bight upon the sand. His cumbersome diving-dress so impeded his efforts that he was no match for his pursuers. Once he turned, and seeing that flight was impossible, he drew a huge knife with his left hand, while in his right he grasped a formidable-looking axe.
All prospect of taking the marauder by surprise being at an end, Dacres realized that both he and his companion were at a disadvantage. The only vulnerable portions of their antagonist to which the electric fork could be applied were his bare hands. To get in a knock-out blow would entail a great risk on the part of the attackers, for the fellow evidently meant to make good use of his weapons.
The sub did not fear the axe so much as he did the knife. Owing to the density of the water the force and velocity of the blow of the former would be considerably diminished, but a thrust of a sharp steel knife, meeting with very little resistance, was not to be regarded lightly.
Dacres stopped, and grasping the other's life-line cut it with his knife. He could, of course, have easily settled the submarine encounter by severing the rascal's airtube, but this he was loth to do. On the other hand how could the fellow be secured? If he surrendered, he could not be taken ashore, especially if there were, as was quite likely, a crowd of accomplices. The only solution, according to the sub's idea, was to compel the man to surrender, take him to the surface, and there disconnect his airtube.
Again the sub bent down, this time laying hold of the flexible armoured hose. He raised his knife threateningly, and indicated that his antagonist should either surrender or be deprived of his supply of air.
The fellow's reply was more than Dacres had bargained for. Either he mistook the invitation to give in, or else he meant to die gamely. Raising his axe he floundered towards the place where the sub stood grasping the airtube.
Dacres dropped the pipe like a piece of red-hot coal, and promptly retreated. Brave as he was he did not like the look of that long, keen knife glistening in the pale green light.
As the stranger advanced Callaghan made his way behind him, and poising his electric fork awaited an opportunity to seize the fellow by the arm and prick him on the back of his hand.
Again the mysterious diver halted and, turning alternately to his right and left, contemplated the two points of attack. By this time the sandy bed of the sea had been considerably disturbed, and the water was rapidly becoming mingled with a muddy deposit that greatly curtailed the range of vision.
It was now a complete deadlock. Neither of the unknown's antagonists could bring themselves to start the attack at close quarters, while the stranger would not surrender.
Awaiting his opportunity the Irishman stealthily gained possession of the airtube, and, grasping it in his powerful hands, attempted to curtail the supply of air. The attempt was a failure, for he was quite unable to compress the stout wire coil running around the rubber hose. He fancied he could see a grim smile of contempt upon the features of his foe. Suddenly Callaghan changed his tactics. Still holding on to the airtube he began to retreat towards the "Meteor." The unknown diver had, perforce, to follow, and since his speed was less than that of the men equipped with the Restronguet apparatus, he could not hope to overtake the Irishman. Dacres saw the latter's plan, and he, too, made for the side of the partially-submerged airship.
It seemed as if nothing could prevent the stranger from being ignominiously hauled to the surface alongside the "Meteor's" wire ladder, until he caught sight of one arm and a fluke of an old anchor that was almost buried in the sand. Round the projecting ironwork he took a turn with the flexible pipe, and the united efforts of his two foes were unable to make him budge another step.
The only solution as far as Dacres could suggest was to return to the surface and get hold of a length of rope wire. By this means the unknown diver could be capsized, made a prisoner and be taken to the airship. The only objection was that some time must necessarily elapse before the wire could be obtained, and in the interval the stranger would make good his escape.
While he was pondering over the problem Dacres saw a huge object heading straight towards him with tremendous speed. The next instant his antagonist was thrown forward, his legs working convulsively in spite of the leaden weights on his boots, while his weapons dropped from his outstretched arms. Then came a terrific blast as the air under considerable pressure burst from the man's diving-dress, while all around the water was tinged with blood. An enormous swordfish, its bulk intensified by the magnifying effect of the water, had charged the unfortunate diver from behind and had impaled him on the long, sharp, horny spike that projected from its head.
Shaking the lifeless body like a terrier does a rat the swordfish strove to disengage its formidable weapon. Dacres knew that either he or his comrade would be the next object of attack, since the ferocious swordfish is never satisfied with one victim. Discretion urged him to make a speedy retreat while there was still an opportunity, but his sense of devotion to his companion soon put that idea out of his head.
Holding his electric fork well in front of him, the sub steeled his nerves and approached his latest foe, which was still striving to withdraw its "sword" from its victim's body.
But Dacres was forestalled. Callaghan, being more in the wake of the fiercely-struggling fish, made his way through the blood-stained water and drove his electric weapon deeply into the leather-like skin. Giving one tremendous jerk that sent the Irishman on his back the swordfish became as rigid as if it were a frozen carcass of mutton in a ship's refrigerator.
As quickly as possible Callaghan regained his feet. His Hibernian blood was up. Securing the knife that had fallen from the grasp of the slain diver he plunged the blade deeply—not once but many times—into the carcass of the swordfish.
At length, satisfied with his efforts, Callaghan desisted, and pointed towards the "Meteor." Although encased in the metal helmet the sub shook his head. The Irishman saw the gesture. Dacres meant to follow the length of airtube, through which the air was still being pumped by the dead man's assistants, who were in ignorance of what had occurred, although the manometer told them that something was amiss.
FOR nearly two hundred feet the two divers trudged over the sandy bed, till the airtube rising obliquely towards the surface told them that they were near the end of their quest.
Overhead was a rectangular floating body measuring roughly twenty feet by ten. Dacres had found out enough to identify the craft as a kind of floating store. He remembered having seen it moored in the harbour, but previously there had been nothing to arouse his suspicions.
He touched the Irishman's hand, and pointed towards the now invisible "Meteor." The two men tramped slowly back in the direction of the airship till they came in sight of the corpse of the unfortunate diver and the body of the dead swordfish.
Again Dacres came to a halt. The idea of taking the body of the victim on board flashed across his mind. Perhaps the man might be identified. Taking possession of the dead man's axe he commenced to hew laboriously at the horny substance in the head of the swordfish. It was a lengthy task, but at length the stubborn bone was severed.
"Man, I thought you were done for," exclaimed Vaughan Whittinghame, as soon as Dacres' head-dress was removed. "What has happened?"
The Captain and the crew of the "Meteor" had good cause to think that something terrible had overtaken their comrades, for the water all around was tinged with blood and agitated by the air-bubbles that were still being thrown up through the severed tube.
"We're all right," said the sub. "We caught the fellow fairly in the act of boring holes in the under sheathing."
"You killed him?"
The sub shook his head.
"No," he replied. "There will be direct evidence in a few moments. Callaghan is still busy down there. Will you have a weighted line lowered, sir?"
While two members of the crew were divesting Dacres of his borrowed diving-suit a rope was lowered over the side, and the rest of the crew eagerly watched the course of events. Presently the Irishman's helmet appeared above the surface, then his shoulders and arms. Holding on to the ladder with one hand he motioned with the other for the men to haul away.
Up came the corpse of the unknown diver transfixed by the pointed weapon of the swordfish.
"It might have been one of us, sir," said Dacres.
"Get the man on board and let's see who he is," ordered the captain.
"That's where he descended," announced the sub, pointing to the galvanized shed on the raft. "If we are fairly sharp we ought to nab the whole crowd before they become alarmed."
"Good!" ejaculated Captain Whittinghame. "Mr. Setchell, will you please send a message to the flagship and request that an armed boat's crew be sent as soon as possible."
In double quick time a cutter was observed to leave the "Repulse." The men, instinctively realizing that the matter was urgent, bent to their oars with a will.
"There's been an attempt made to scuttle the 'Meteor,'" exclaimed Whittinghame to the lieutenant in charge of the boat. "The fellows are operating from yonder house-boat or raft."
"They're still there, I suppose?" asked the officer.
"We haven't seen them leave. Can you board and investigate?"
"Certainly," was the reply, and ordering his men to give way the lieutenant instructed the coxswain to pull straight for the raft.
Eagerly the crew of the airship watched the departing cutter. As she ran alongside the floating store the oars were boated, and the seamen, armed with rifles and bayonets, clambered on to the platform surrounding the iron shed.
The lieutenant knocked once without receiving any reply. He knocked again. This time he was greeted by a revolver shot, the bullet passing completely through the door and missing the officer's body by a hand's breadth.
Another and another shot came in quick succession, but at the first sign of resistance the lieutenant and his men had thrown themselves flat upon the platform.
"Give it to them hot, men," shouted the officer.
Seven Lee-Enfields spoke almost simultaneously The bullets, passing completely through the frail galvanized iron sheeting, whistled high above the British ships lying half a mile away in the open roadstead. From within the hut came groans and shrieks for mercy, while from a small window was thrust a white handkerchief fastened to the staff of a boathook.
One of the seamen, putting his shoulder to the frail door, quickly burst it open. In rushed the bluejackets, presently to emerge with four uninjured but badly scared men and two slightly-wounded ones as the result of their prompt action.
"Do you know any of these gentlemen, sir?" asked the lieutenant unconcernedly as the cutter returned to the "Meteor."
"I do," declared Gerald Whittinghame. "They are some of Durango's gang. Three of them, at least, were members of the crew of the 'Libertad.'"
"Never!" ejaculated his brother incredulously. "We left the 'Libertad' a total wreck. The survivors were known to have made for the Brazilian frontier."
"All the same, I'm certain I'm right," persisted Gerald. "Ask the lieutenant to send the men on board and we will question them."
To this proposal the "Repulse's" officer raised no objection. The six Valderians were made to enter the airship. The two wounded ones were handed over to Dr. Hambrough's care, while the others were told to stand against one of the bulkheads, with an armed man between each to prevent any further act of violence.
The prisoners maintained a sullen silence when questioned by Gerald Whittinghame. Promises to be treated with leniency and threats if they refused to divulge their employer's whereabouts alike were useless.
The Valderians apparently realized that being in the power of the British their lives were safe. Had they thought otherwise fear would have compelled them to speak to save themselves from summary execution.
"I'll take the whole jolly lot back to the flagship, sir," said the lieutenant. "No doubt the Admiral will send them ashore with the request that the new president of Valderia will deal with them as he thinks fit."
"One moment," replied Vaughan Whittinghame. "Suppose we see if we can identify the fellow in the diver's suit. It might even be Durango himself."
The body of the dead diver had been removed from where it had been lying close to the entry port, and had been placed in a compartment out of the sight of the captives as they were being brought on board.
When the head-dress was removed Gerald Whittinghame tapped his brother on the shoulder.
"Now are you convinced?" he asked.
"I don't know the man," replied the Captain.
"But I do. That is Sebastian Lopez, the fellow who took command of the 'Libertad' when she left Naocuanha to pick up Reno Durango at Salto Augusto. I don't mind staking any amount that Durango has doubled on his tracks and is somewhere in Valderian territory."
"Hardly likely with those submarine plans in his possession," demurred Captain Whittinghame. "He knows that Valderia is no go as far as he is concerned. He'll be making his way as fast as he can to Europe, to raise money on the plans."
"When it's a choice between cupidity and revenge there's no telling what the Mexican will do," declared Gerald. "My opinion is that he is somewhere about, and has bribed these men to cripple the 'Meteor.' I admit they went a clumsy way about it, for they could easily have fixed an electrically-fired mine under the aircraft and blown her to atoms. Look here; the best thing we can do is to separate the prisoners and try to get them to open their mouths."
"Good idea!" asserted the lieutenant of the "Repulse." "If you threaten to hand them over to President Desiro I should think they'll listen to reason pretty smartly."
"Very well, then," assented the Captain. "So long as you have no objection I haven't; they are your prisoners, you know."
The first Valderian to be questioned maintained an obstinate silence. At the threat of being sent ashore to be dealt with by the new president he merely shrugged his shoulders.
"Take him away," ordered Vaughan Whittinghame impatiently. "They show far greater solicitude for their rascally leader than Durango would show towards them."
"Before you have the next prisoner brought in we'll arrange a little dramatic episode," said the flagship's lieutenant. "I'll order my men to fire a volley."
"By all means," assented Whittinghame. "I quite follow you."
Having given his boat's crew orders for each man to break out a bullet from a cartridge and load with the blank, the lieutenant told the men to fire. The sharp crack of musketry resounded from one end of the airship to the other.
When the second prisoner was ushered in he was pale and trembling. He was now fully convinced that the faith he had in the Englishman's reluctance to take life was a mistake, for in his mind he felt certain that the volley he had just heard meant the summary execution of his predecessor.
"Pay attention," exclaimed Gerald Whittinghame sternly. He had been deputed to act as cross-examiner-in-chief, and his intimate knowledge of Spanish stood him in good stead. "Pay attention: you have been caught in the act of committing an outrage on the property of a friendly nation; for it is useless to attempt to excuse yourself on the grounds that you were unaware of the settlement of the differences between Great Britain and Valderia. We mean to take extreme measures with you, unless——"
Vaughan's brother paused in order that his words should carry weight, while the incompleted sentence indicated that even yet the prisoner might expect clemency.
"Unless you tell us all you know of the whereabouts of Señor Reno Durango. Do not attempt to deceive us. Already we know a great deal, so if you tell us anything that we know to be false you will have good cause to wish you had held your tongue."
"Señor, I speak the truth," replied the Valderian. "I have been made to do what I have done. I swear it——"
"We do not ask you about your part of the affair," interrupted Gerald. "What we want to know, and what we insist on finding out, relates to Durango."
"Señor, he is not in Zandovar."
"That I know," said Whittinghame. It was a sheer piece of bluff, for up to the present he had had a suspicion that the Mexican might have returned.
"Nor is he in Naocuanha."
"We do not wish to know where he is not, but where he is."
"Señor, I know not."
Gerald Whittinghame pulled out his watch.
"You are lying," he thundered. "I give you thirty seconds. At the end of that time if you do not tell the truth——" and he pointed significantly towards the door.
The silence was so intense that the ticking of the watch could be distinctly heard. The prisoner's face was working spasmodically.
"Twenty-eight, twenty-nine ——" counted Gerald.
Before he could say the word "thirty" the Valderian leapt upon him like a tiger. The watch was hurled across the cabin, while ere Whittinghame and his companions quite realized what was taking place the prisoner was clawing Gerald's face like a wild cat.
Two or three of the "Meteor's" crew threw themselves upon the violent prisoner and secured him.
"Shoot me!" he shouted defiantly. "Shoot me, you English cowards! I will not tell."
"Take him below," ordered Gerald. "He is a jolly sight braver than most of his countrymen. You will not be shot," he added, addressing the Valderian.
"By Jove! if they are all like that fellow we shan't learn very much," remarked Vaughan to his brother, after the man had been led away to join the first prisoner. "Either Durango has put black fear into their hearts, or else they regard him as a hero worthy of any sacrifice."
"We'll try the effect of another volley, sir," suggested the lieutenant from the "Repulse." "Number Three may be made of different stuff."
The third prisoner certainly was. With the report of the rifles ringing in his ears he was ushered into the cabin. He, too, thought he was to be sent to execution, and in the hope of saving his life he most readily agreed to tell all he knew concerning his chief.
Durango, two days after the destruction of the "Libertad," had made off for Salto Augusto, accompanied by two men who had served under von Harburg, while the other survivors, under his orders, went to Naocuanha. Apparently, the Mexican thought better of attempting the hazardous journey on foot across the Voyocama Desert; for on the eve of the fall of the Valderian capital he arrived at Naocuanha. Without attempting to inform President Zaypuru of his presence, the Mexican called together his remaining partisans and ordered them to destroy or at least seriously cripple the airship as she lay in the inner harbour.
His idea was not merely to revenge himself upon his rival, but to prevent Whittinghame from pursuing him. He had left Zandovar that morning for Nazca, a small seaport in Peru. "For what reason is Durango going to Nazca?" demanded Gerald Whittinghame.
"Señor, I do not know. I can only guess, for the Señor Durango rarely told us of his plans. I know that at Nazca dwells an inventor who has constructed a boat that can fly through the air. Some months ago this inventor wrote to President Zaypuru and offered to sell him the craft, but Durango advised the president to have nothing to do with it. Perhaps, now, Durango will buy it.Quien sabe?"
"How long will it take Durango to reach Nazca?"
"He has but to ride to Tuiche: there he will find an aeroplane," replied the prisoner.
"That will do; remove him," ordered Gerald, then turning to his brother he added, "we must be off almost at once, if we are to catch the villain. How long will it take for the 'Meteor' to be ready for flight?"
"Twenty minutes," replied Vaughan calmly.