No man on an open deck could breathe the atmosphere up yonder where
that steel fleck hung in the blue of Heaven, no aeroplanes could find
supporting air, no gun could be discharged, no missile fired--and who
could dare the awful cold of Space!
"I will come down," said the _Mary Rose_.
Like a meteor she fell until she touched the surf of the white cloud
sea, and there lay gently rolling, half submerged, a spindle-shaped
bolt of lustrous pearly grey, almost invisible. Every available
weapon in the Fleet was trained upon her broadside. She sent another
message by aerial telegraph to the flagship.
"I have led you out over the Channel so that no harm can be done by a
rain of shells. To make myself a better target I shall come within
point-blank range." The yacht took up a new position. "Fire!"
"I give you a minute to surrender," replied the flagship. "Is there
any need for bloodshed? Yield, or I must sink you."
"Thanks. I am in perfect safety. Fire!"
A ten-inch projectile launched from the flagship exploded midway upon
its course.
"Try a torpedo," said the yacht.
The weapon which would have destroyed a town flew out from the
flagship's bows, and was scarcely clear of the fleet before it was
blown to pieces.
Then the whole fleet attacked, and for some minutes the yacht was
lost to sight in the red hurricane of bursting shells. When the air
cleared, the echoes still thundered among the clouds, and the yacht
rolled violently on huge waves of air.
No fortress on earth could have outlived that close bombardment, yet
she existed still, and ruthfully the Admiral sent word asking if
there were any survivors.
"I am coming," said the yacht, "to take position alongside the
flagship. I intend no hostile action, but if a single shot is fired,
in self-defence I shall destroy the Fleet."
In bitter humiliation the Admiral waited, standing in the icy wind on
the deck of his flagship. Never before had a British Fleet been
captured, never one of our admirals humbled to the point of
surrender, and death would have been easier to meet.
This steel thunderbolt could outstrip the swiftest cruisers then
afloat, could ram the fragile aerial battleships, and was herself
impregnable. The Fleet was at her mercy, and the navies of the world
were obsolete.
She advanced quite slowly, swung on her own length, lay alongside of
the _Devastation_, and flung her gangway on the quarter-deck.
Then came Brand's messenger, a prince of the blood royal, the Duke of
Lancaster, clothed in the Queen's armour, bearing her Majesty's
signet, claiming no victory, enforcing no indignities, but with a
salute to the white ensign, and a salute to the Admiral of the Fleet,
paying the honours of war to a fallen power.
At the gangway Brand made the Admiral welcome.
* * * * *
A tremor went through the _Mary Rose_ as on the Admiral's departure
the starboard gangway clanged home against her side.
Brand entered the conning tower. "Stand by," he said. "Dead
slow--five to starboard--ahead."
"All clear, sir," answered Captain Simpson, his hands on the levers.
"Steady! Rise."
The yacht rose gently, while the Channel Fleet fell away beneath her.
Brand sat down in the chair beside the Captain, watching the
indicator until the needle gauged thirty thousand feet.
"Way enough," he said. "Quarter speed ahead, west by north, half
north."
"West by north, half north."
"Full speed ahead."
"Full speed it is." Captain Simpson leaned back with a sigh of
relief, then glanced up sideways at the master's face.
"Light your pipe," said Brand.
"Thank you, sir--Great Death! you thrashed the Fleet!"
"I've done more," the master sighed. "I've broken a man's heart.
Poor Rothschild!"
"Was that the Jew admiral?"
"A great gentleman," said Brand. "Are you sure, Simpson, that you
can remember that formula for explosives?"
"Yes, sir."
"Tell your ship's company that I don't ask them to face war risks on
peace wages. The pay and pension rates are doubled from the first of
this month." The captain started to his feet. "There, go away and
take an hour's rest."
The captain grabbed Brand's shoulder from behind. "A warning, sir.
The Dictator tried to bribe me, and he's bought nearly all your
skippers. Don't let them know that new formula."
Brand turned round and shook hands with him.
"Get below," he said, "and, by the way, tell somebody to ask His
Royal Highness to join me here."
The captain rolled away down the ladder. "Thrashed the Fleet," he
muttered, "thrashed the whole Fleet! Great Death!"
Brand was alone now, and for some minutes paced restlessly the small
domed room with its glass vault and walls. The sun was high in the
black, star-strewn heavens, the cloud-sea vanished into the heat of
the day. Beneath rolled the blue Channel, and on either side the
land went up to meet an immense horizon. Broad on the port beam lay
the coast of France, beyond on the port bow the wide Atlantic loomed.
There on the starboard side was the English land from Beachy Head,
faint glimmering in the east, even to the Start in far-off
Devonshire. At his very feet lay the green Isle of Wight masking a
skein of intricate blue waters. There was Portsmouth, yonder
Southampton, and northward Salisbury and Winchester, a score of
cities, a thousand villages and farmsteads, where as the green melted
away to blue, range beyond range of gently rolling downs, mist upon
mist of exquisite rounded hills, up to the very stars of eternal
night. And all the land must perish if he failed!
Someone was coming up the ladder, and presently Brand, turning away
from the glass, encountered Lancaster.
The Prince saluted him, but Brand came forward, laying both hands
upon his shoulders.
"My boy," he said, "where would you like to land?"
"Where you land, sir."
"I'd like to be sure of your safety, Lancaster, and I want to put you
ashore."
"I'll see you damned first!"
Brand looked into his keen, fresh, comely face.
"You're most wonderfully like her," he said, absently; "and there's
no bending her. I suppose you'll stay whether I like it or not.
I've got to recapture Lyonesse."
"I want to see the game."
"Lancaster, you know my three big passenger boats?"
"The _Coronation_, _Grace à Dieu_, and _Gigantic_? Yes, of course.
I came from New York in the _Gigantic_ once--did it in sixteen hours.
Why, there's room for this yacht in her after-cabin."
"The _Gigantic_ was in dock when Lyonesse was captured; but Admiral
Rothschild tells me that she is afloat since yesterday, guarding the
town against me. She is in charge of a naval officer, with orders to
ram at sight."
"But you thrashed the Imperial Navy!"
"The _Gigantic_ carries no explosives. So far as I see, I can't ram
her, I can't blow her up, and she's so swift that I can't even run
away. I've decided to set every man ashore who is not absolutely
needed. Lancaster, you must go."
"Sir," answered Lancaster, hotly, "I'm here for the Queen, and I
refuse to land."
"As you will."
A few minutes later the _Mary Rose_ set all her idlers ashore in
Devonshire. When she took flight again Brand and his captain
returned to their seats in the conning-tower, and Lancaster stood
behind them, with a life line to steady him during the coming fight.
Together they watched the narrowing land beneath, as Cornwall tapered
westward between the seas.
No clouds sailed in the clear sky to mask an attack.
"Wait for the night, sir," ventured Captain Simpson.
"Until the _Gigantic_ is warned."
"You're right, sir. Could you move down with the sun behind you?
The yacht would be difficult to see."
"This cupola would shine against the sun. I wish we could make
ourselves invisible."
"I think," he added, "the _Gigantic_ will be lying with her head
towards London, and if we keep on this course her look-out can't fail
to sight us. That would be awkward, so put her hard a-port, and set
her course nor'-west."
The yacht swung rapidly and steadied.
"Nor'-west it is, sir."
"We'll come down from the north," said Brand; "we should sight her
broadside at thirty or forty miles."
"Good," cried the captain, "she'll hardly see us at five miles."
Not a word more was spoken until the coast of Ireland loomed ahead.
"Hard a-starboard."
"Aye, aye, sir."
The yacht heeled over as she swung.
"South!"
The yacht came to an even keel, swung a point or two back, and
steadied.
"South it is."
Far up against the sun a distant film of land blurred the horizon.
"Starboard a little; a little more; keep her at that."
Brand shipped a powerful telescope on slings and focussed the Lands
End. There in a trembling mirage the granite city lay, the long
glass roofs of her factories gleaming like silver scales.
"Half speed," he murmured; then, as the vessel steadied: "There's the
_Gigantic_--broadside on--starboard a very little--too much--so.
Keep her at that. She must be very low down--scarcely a mile above
the roofs. She'll see us against the sky, so drop to ten thousand
feet, Mr. Simpson."
The _Mary Rose_ fell for a minute or so.
"Ten thousand, sir."
"Drop another mile--there--she's below the horizon now. Full speed
ahead."
The sough of the dense air against the yacht's hull rose to a
deafening roar. The heat in the cupola became intense, and had to be
modified with a spray of liquid air. Brand returned to the telescope.
"There she is," he shouted. "I'll try to ram her propeller--watch my
hand and steer as I beckon--she hasn't sighted us--couple on the
auxiliary engines--all the speed you've got. Her hull makes such a
blinding glare in the sun--I can scarcely see. Rise one hundred
feet--ten more feet--stand by to ram--five down--she's moving!
Starboard! Starboard! She's turning to ram--starboard
more--more--more! Missed, by God!
Brand dashed across to the after windows. "Rise!" he yelled. "Rise,
full speed--she's after us--she's charging! Back of all! Guns,
Simpson! Guns! The lunatic has guns! Some Navy duffer has mounted
heavy artillery. Back full speed, she's on us----"
Brand threw himself across the instrument table, set the formula for
explosives, banged down the key, flashed out the electric waves for
high explosives. Her red-hot bows cleaving the hurricane, the
_Gigantic_ came roaring down full on the broadside, flame streaming
from her guns, shells bursting. Her ram was within a hundred yards,
within fifty, the yacht, struck by the bow waves, fell reeling over
on her beam ends, lost in a cloud of blazing scarlet light, crushed
down by enormous jagged wreckage of steel.
Then she righted, rolling violently, alone in heaven, while far down
through space fell incandescent fragments of the lost _Gigantic_,
destroyed by her own magazines.