“Caramba!” ejaculated Jim, keeping one eye fixed upon the spark of light which was now rapidly travelling past them, “if we can’t put that machinery right in two minutes, then—good-bye to the Blanco! Quick, Terry, is there any hope, do you think?” he asked, dropping on one knee beside his chum, who had already shut off steam and was crouching over the machinery.
“Wait a bit, Jim,” replied Terry, working away like a madman with spanner and screw-wrench; “if I can but loosen this nut I can disconnect this bent rod and replace it in half a jiffy.”
The young man heaved and strained at the spanner, with the perspiration dripping off his forehead, but he could not get the refractory nut to turn. The stout steel handle quivered under the strain, and Terry’s muscles stood out on his bare arms like whipcord, but still the nut would not budge. In a second Jim threw his strength into the balance; the spanner showed signs of slipping round the nut, but the next second it flew round, and the nut gave at last.
It was then only a few seconds’ work to take out the bent rod and replace it with a new one; but the suspected torpedo-boat had by that time drawn ahead of the launch. Jim, however, was not the sort of man to say “die,” and at his quick word of command the boat leaped forward once more after the enemy, and under the increased pressure of steam due to the stoppage, actually began to gain upon the chase. Douglas put his hands to his mouth and sent a sharp challenge ringing across the water toward her. This was immediately followed by a slight commotion aboard the suspected Peruvian, which showed that the hail had been heard; but there was no sign of her stopping; indeed, the next second a strong volume of flame gushed up from her funnel, which proved that her engineers had shovelled on more coal and turned on the forced draught.
Jim almost groaned in his agony of mind, for it seemed as though the accident to the launch had doomed the flagship to destruction, and he was just about to order his men to fire the Gatling gun at the dimly seen shape, in the hope of hitting her, despite the fact that the smoke would hide the chase from him, when he saw a long steel-coloured shape glide past the bows of his own boat.
His heart gave a great thump at the sight, for he knew that he had had a narrow escape from death. The torpedo-boat was not carrying a spar-torpedo, but was towing the infernal machine, which she doubtless meant to drag under the flagship’s bows. It was one of the newly invented Lay torpedoes, and a terrible weapon when effectively used. But alarm at his own narrow escape was swamped in the feeling of relief for the safety of the Blanco Encalada; for the torpedo-boat would be obliged to manoeuvre a little to get her torpedo into place, and thus there was just a chance that he might yet be able to intercept her. In a second he had whirled the wheel hard over and was off along the Peruvian’s wake, telling the men to keep a bright look-out for the torpedo, and to commence firing in the direction of the torpedo-boat.
Then the quick, metallic clatter of the Gatling broke out, mingled with the whip-like crack of the rifles, and the darkness was illuminated by the vivid flashes of flame. From the Peruvian a series of hoarse screams, oaths, and yells told plainly enough that the Chilians had made good practice, and that some at least of the hailing bullets had found their billets; but the craft was all too surely drawing away, and it became a question whether, even now, the launch would be in time to save the Blanco Encalada.
Suddenly Jim perceived a speck of fire break out aboard the flagship, which quickly broke into a great glow of flame, and he heaved a sigh of relief which was almost a sob, for he knew that her people had taken alarm from the firing and were prepared. In a few seconds the beacon-fire spread a lurid glare wide over the waters of the bay, and the Peruvian torpedo-boat was plainly disclosed to view, together with a phosphorescent glimmer which indicated the position of the deadly torpedo.
“Now, men!” cried the young Englishman, “now is your chance, while the light lasts. Train the gun on the torpedo, and fire at it until you hit it. Riflemen, do the same, and remember that the Blanco’s safety depends upon your shooting.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” responded the Chilians, and a second later the Gatling in the bows began to chatter out its deadly message, while the seamen rapidly loaded and fired their rifles, in the hope of destroying the infernal machine before it could reach the Blanco Encalada. But, try as they might, it seemed impossible to hit that fish-like object which dashed through the water ahead of them. Twice the Chilians had hit the torpedo-boat’s helmsman, and twice he had been replaced, while the shrieks that came from the boat itself testified to the execution inflicted upon her crew. Still she was creeping nearer and nearer to the flagship, the crew of which were vainly trying to depress the muzzles of their great guns sufficiently to reach the Peruvian, and but a few more short seconds were needed for the latter to complete her fell work.