How the situation was viewed from its decks has been told at length in the admirably graphic letter of Captain Boyes, R.N., to the Times, and to that source I must refer you for details. Looking down from my eyrie, I was of course only able to gauge very roughly the havoc wrought by the bomb. Hartmann had previously told me that nothing constructed by man could withstand his enormous missiles, and the scene below well bore out his boast. Apparently the bomb had burst amidships nearly, I should say, between the funnels. Of these latter one had been shorn of half its length, the other had been blown away completely, its base forming part of a chasm whence rolled volumes of black smoke, through which the shrieks of wounded men rose faintly upward. Across this chasm had fallen the fore-mast, while fragments of spars, ventilators, steel plates, fittings, boats, and human victims were scattered confusedly over the low-lying fore-deck. And even as I looked two more appalling explosions shook the ironclad from stem to stern; through the uprush of smoke I saw a great telescope of a gun tossed out of its shattered turret into the water and a huge cantle of the steel deck torn away, as if it were paper, exposing a new chasm, at once invaded by flames. But the other bomb was even more deadly, bursting in the great hollow excavated between the funnels and wrecking the very vitals of the ironclad; the steam from the shattered boilers rushing tumultuously up the gap with the effect of speedily shrouding the whole vessel. Some horrible deaths, says Captain Boyes, sprang from this explosion, as all those on duty in the port stoke-hole and engine-room were either blown to pieces by the bomb or subsequently boiled alive. I did not, of course, know of this at the time, but the volumes of escaping steam told too clearly how hideous must be the massacre, and imagination thus stimulated could not very well go far wrong. I felt giddy with horror when I thought of the scenes which that vapour-pall hung over.
How long was this drama to continue? Doubtless until the ironclad was gutted or sunk, a consummation which could not be very far distant. Two or three bombs more would surely complete the work, and leave perhaps no witness to tell the hideous tale to history. I could look no longer—to do so seemed almost abetting these cruel fanatics—but flinging myself on the deck awaited tremblingly the next burst of thunder. A minute ebbed away, another, and then another, and still no shock. The suspense was becoming acute.
Suddenly the Attila pitched violently, the bow shifting thrice vehemently upwards, and along with this the hum of the great screw-blades began to swell higher and higher. I sprang to my feet—these tactics meant, of course, a rapid ascent, but what was the object in view? Glancing over the railing I perceived that we were slanting at great speed into the cloud-zone, leaving the crippled battle-ship far behind and below. Ah, yes! The reason was clear enough. Not a mile to the south-west a large ironclad attended by some smaller vessels, probably cruisers, was making its way to the scene. Owing to my absorption in the attack they had hitherto escaped my notice.
“A poor job this,” said some one who had stolen up unperceived behind me. I turned round—it was Burnett.
“Very,” I answered. “I must congratulate you, I suppose, on the heroism you have just displayed. A pity not to enhance it by engaging this vessel’s consorts.”
Burnett took the sneer coolly.
“Why waste material? Besides, you must see that the Attila would be uselessly exposing herself. It would be folly to risk the salute of heavy guns with the great campaign yet before us.”
He was wise after his kind. The Attila dared not face the new-comers, who by elevating their guns might well succeed in winging her. A shell from a five-ton gun would have proved a most damaging visitor. Only so long as she circled directly above a vessel could she count on immunity from serious injury. A contest at her old level with numerous scattered foes was impracticable; so huge a target would inevitably be holed in the long run, while an attempt to drop bombs from a higher level would defeat its object by rendering accuracy of aim impracticable. Perforce, then, she had dropped the prey from her talons and was seeking safety aloft. Mounting into cloud-land, she was departing as mysteriously as she had come, a tigress who, having once tasted blood, yearned to slake her thirst in the heart of civilization itself. To-morrow we were to reach the metropolis, and then—— Sick with my forebodings and savage at my sense of impotence, I turned surlily away from Burnett, whose very presence was now becoming obnoxious, and descending into a court passed thence through the gallery to my berth, resolved from that hour to see as little of my fell associates as the conditions of my stay rendered possible.
CHAPTER XI.
A TEMPEST OF DYNAMITE.
On the morning of October 19th, that most memorable of days in the history of revolutions, we sighted Brighton through the haze, and secrecy being no longer observed, the Attila swept down like an albatross into the sight of men. Gliding two hundred feet above the water she presented a truly majestic spectacle. The vast sweep of her aëroplane, the huge size of her silvery grey hull, the play of the three great screws humming with the speed of their rotation, the red-capped aëronauts lining the upper deck and lower gallery, the nozzle horned with its quaint conning-tower, and the four ominous cannon leaning downwards from the citadel, these and the marvellous flight itself commanded the homage that hailed her. The esplanade and the beach buzzed with wonder beneath us, and as we skimmed over the house-tops beyond them, streets seemed to fill as if by magic. Thunders of applause rose behind us as awe regularly gave place to admiration. “They will sound a different note to-night,” said Schwartz, who was standing by me. “The banquet at last is ready, and surely we shall eat till we are gorged.”