CHAPTER XXVI

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.

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