THE VINDICATION OF THE "OLIVE BRANCH"
FOR three nights preceding the arrival of the _Olive Branch_ on the
scene of action Captain Brookes rarely left the deck. Content with
two hours' rest a day he seemed to be independent of a desire to
sleep. Yet the enormous physical and mental strain was beginning to
tell.
"I shall have rest in plenty after this business is done; my lifelong
task will soon be accomplished," he replied in answer to Gerald's
remonstrances. "But now I must see the prisoners personally. Will you
please accompany me?"
Outside the cabin in which the officers of the airship were confined
stood two armed seamen. On the captain's approach they unlocked the
door, and followed their superior into the apartment; but with a
gesture they were dismissed, and Captain Brookes and Gerald were
alone with the three prisoners.
"Good morning, Herr Hans von Rippach," exclaimed Captain Brookes. "I
regret to have to inform you that owing to possible events I must ask
you to take up your quarters in a cabin on the main deck."
"Beneath the armoured deck, I presume?" replied the individual who
concealed his identity under the Continental equivalent of Mr. Nobody
of Nowhere. The man spoke in fluent English, with hardly a trace of a
foreign pronunciation. "That means you are going into action?"
The captain assented.
"Might I take this opportunity of expressing my regret for the rude
manner in which I spoke to you on my arrival on board?" continued the
officer.
"I accept your apologies, sir."
"And to answer your original questions I beg to announce myself
as----"
"Prince E. von Bulow von Ratalewis, second son of----"
"Thank you, Lord Stanningborough," rejoined the prince with an air of
a practised duellist who has effected a successful counter. "Need I
recall our most pleasurable meeting in Vienna in '09?"
"You heard what the prince said?" said the captain, abruptly, as he
and Gerald left the cabin after the expiration of ten minutes'
conversation. "Please keep this matter to yourself, as I particularly
wish to preserve my incognito."
Gerald bowed; he was on the point of replying "Yes, my lord," but,
checking himself, he merely answered "Yes, sir." The revelation had
momentarily staggered him, for he clearly remembered the case of the
mysterious disappearance of Lord Stanningborough early in the second
decade of the present century. For the first time he was able to
recognise the peer's features in spite of the addition of the
torpedo-beard.
Lord Stanningborough had been a prominent member of a committee of
Imperial Defence, and had been submitted to a severe criticism for
his outspoken utterances at the time of the three-power standard
controversy. Even his personal friends treated him as a harmless
fanatic, while the Government of the day ignored his well-meant
warnings. At last, in utter disgust, Lord Stanningborough announced
his intention of undertaking a big-game expedition to Uganda, and
within a month of landing in Africa all traces of him had vanished.
But Gerald Tregarthen understood; Captain Brookes was to remain
Captain Brookes till his life's work was completed.
A bugle sounded "General quarters." From his position in the
conning-tower Gerald could see the ungainly lattice-work masts of
Admiral Neboff's division showing just above the horizon.
"Independent firing, foremost turret," ordered Captain Brookes, as an
11in. shell from a partially disabled ship ricochetted harmlessly a
hundred yards across the _Olive Branch's_ bows.
"That's done it," he exclaimed, as the hostile vessel disappeared
from view. "Now for the enemy's flanking ships."
Neboff had witnessed the arrival of the redoubtable cruiser. He had
been duped; the _Olive Branch_ had not been annihilated but had
arrived at a critical moment.
A signal fluttered from the flagship of the vice-admiral's division.
Every available 11in. and 14in. gun was to be trained and fired
simultaneously at the _Olive Branch_ in the hope of sending her to
the bottom.
For the space of twelve seconds over fifty heavy shells were hurtling
through the air at a velocity of considerably more than a thousand
yards a second. But the gun-layers had forgotten one important
consideration; they had omitted to make due allowance for the
cruiser's abnormal speed, and, with one exception, the projectiles
fell harmlessly astern, thrashing the sunlit water into a cauldron of
foam.
The shell that struck home--a 14in. missile--simply swept the whole
of the afterpart of the _Olive Branch_ out of existence. Everything
above the armoured deck and abaft the rearmost gun-turret was blown
away, the concussion shaking the cruiser from stem to stern.
"The bos'un to sound and report state of hull," ordered Captain
Brookes; "then take necessary steps to keep the leak under."
"The range?" he continued, as he bent over the ZZ-rays indicator.
"Fourteen thousand yards, sir," replied Gerald.
The next instant the horizon in the direction of Admiral Neboff's
division seemed to be one blaze of dull red fire, a thick pall of
smoke rose in the air, and presently the dull revibration of a series
of detonations was faintly borne to the ear of the young lieutenant
in the conning-tower.
"Hurrah! That's settled their hash," he shouted, carried away by the
excitement of the moment. "The----"
The sentence remained unfinished, for, happening to turn his head, he
saw the figure of his commanding officer huddled over the
indicator-board.
"Hit, sir?" he exclaimed, anxiously.
There was no reply. Gently Gerald lifted the body of the captain and
laid him carefully down upon the floor of the conning-tower. Then, in
answer to a hurried order, two seamen entered the citadel by means of
the armoured spiral staircase, and Captain Brookes was carried below
to be placed in the hands of Dr. White.
There was no time to be lost in bewailing the latest catastrophe.
"Pass the word for Mr. Sinclair to take command," ordered Gerald,
then, without waiting for the first lieutenant's appearance, he
directed the quartermaster to head towards the left flank of the main
division of the enemy's fleet.
A hurried glance at the ZZ-ray apparatus showed that this potent
means of offence was no longer available.
[Illustration: An admiral's pinnace was approaching the shattered
_Olive Branch_. Gerald hastened on deck to receive the distinguished
officer.]
The pointers had been kept in position for such a length of time
during the captain's collapse that every unit of electricity had
escaped. Tregarthen realised that at their utmost capacity the
dynamos would have to be working for six hours ere sufficient power
was restored to bring the ZZ-rays up to their normal power.
It was to be by gunfire alone that the _Olive Branch_ must complete
her work of retrieving the fortunes of the day.
"Independent action!" roared the lieutenant through the
speaking-tube, for the electrical indicators communicating with the
turrets had been disorganised by the concussion of the shell that had
burst inboard.
In the space of a quarter of an hour the supreme conflict was
decided. The enemy's feint had been changed into a disorderly
retreat; many were sunk by gunfire, while the remainder, overhauled
by the superior speed of the British fleet, hoisted the white flag.
The naval Armageddon had been fought and won.
"Where's Sinclair?" asked Tregarthen, as the wearied, yet triumphant,
crew came on deck to witness the British warships taking possession
of their surrendered foes.
"Down, sir; fatally wounded, I fear."
"And the captain?"
"Dead, sir," answered Dr. White, who was unable to conceal his
emotion.
For some moments Gerald could say nothing, so grieved was he at the
news. Then he asked, simply:--
"Where was he hit?"
"He is untouched by the enemy's shot; it is a case of heart failure
caused by the strain of the last few days, culminating in the
excitement of the action," replied the surgeon.
"Pass the word for the officers to come aft," said Lieutenant
Tregarthen.
In a few broken words Gerald formally conveyed the news of their
great loss, then, producing a document with which Captain Brookes had
entrusted him, he read the instructions that were to be carried out
in the event of the death or disablement of the captain of the _Olive
Branch_.
This done, Tregarthen with his own hands lowered the green ensign and
hoisted the blue ensign half-mast in its place, as the British naval
regulations forbid the use of the white ensign. Then, gathering the
struck colours under his arm, the lieutenant went below to where the
body of the gallant captain lay.
All that was mortal of Captain Brookes had been placed on one of the
junior officer's bunks, for the senior officers' cabins had been
swept away by the 14in. shell. Reverently Gerald covered the body
with the green ensign, the most fitting homage he could pay to the
memory of his temporary chief.
"Admiral coming off, sir."
Tregarthen hastened on deck to find that a pinnace--one of the few
that was still seaworthy, so fierce had been the enemy's fire--was
approaching the _Olive Branch_, a Union Jack denoting the rank of
admiral of the fleet flying from a jack-staff in her bows.
With the customary honours Admiral Hobbes came over the side,
regarding the shattered quarter-deck of the mysterious cruiser with
ill-concealed interest.
Gerald, in his uniform of lieutenant in His Majesty's fleet, stepped
forward to receive the distinguished officer, and informed him of the
death of Captain Brookes and of his written instructions to hand over
the _Olive Branch_ formally to the British Government.
"I am not ashamed to confess," remarked Admiral Hobbes to Gerald as
they stood in the presence of the great captain, "that but for the
assistance of the _Olive Branch_ our position would have been
hopeless. Now, thanks to Captain Brookes, all danger is at an end,
and England still remains Mistress of the Seas. More than that, she
will be incontestably supreme for all time. It's a sharp lesson, but
an effectual one. All honour to the man who fulfilled his mission,
and by one great action made further war impossible."
And standing rigidly at the salute, the veteran admiral paid his
homage to the Sea Monarch.
THE END.
[Transcriber's Notes:
"THE CAPTAIN, A MAGAZINE FOR BOYS & 'OLD BOYS.'"
was a monthly magazine for young boys. It contained articles
about how to make things yourself, about schools, photography,
and short stories by different authors. The magazines were
also published collectively as half-year volumes. In 1911
volume XXV appeared and it included this story by Percy F.
Westerman.
This story was published the next year (1912) by Adam &
Charles Black, as a novel.
The 1911 edition contains a number of misprints.
The following misprints have been corrected:
[from beneath, his feet.] -> [from beneath his feet.]
[I wil hasten to] -> [I will hasten to]
["I am begining to] -> ["I am beginning to]
Beneath an illustration the following text was found:
[the tips of the twin propellors] ->
[the tips of the twin propellers]
[the companion Selkirk,] ->
[the companion, Selkirk,]
[in the Altantic] -> [in the Atlantic]
Several words occur with different notation. It could not be
established which spelling is correct, so no corrections were
made for:
[charthouse]/[chart-house]
[bos'n]/[bos'un]/[bo's'un]
[siren]/[syren]
A reversal was detected (but not corrected) in the following
fragment:
["destroyed" was substituted for that signifying "escaped."]
Following the story-line, the author probably meant to write:
["escaped" was substituted for that signifying "destroyed."]
The plain text file uses underscores to indicate italic text
and asterixes to indicate bold.
A contents-list and an illustrations-list have been
added for the convenience of the reader.
]