“Can’t you tell by the build of her?” demanded Lethbridge. “I have always understood that you sailors had but to look at a ship to tell her nationality at once; at least that is the impression that one gathers from the general run of sea novels.”
“Yes,” answered Mildmay. “But that refers to the old days of wooden ships. There was a distinctiveness in the model of the wooden ship that was an almost infallible index to her nationality. But nowadays ships—and particularly war-ships—are built so much alike in shape that, except in a few rather extreme cases, it is practically impossible to identify them. That fellow, yonder, for instance, might be British, Dutch, German, Austrian, Italian, or Japanese, for all that one can tell by merely looking at him. Ah, there goes another gun!”
The shot this time struck somewhat nearer, throwing up three successive jets of water, the last of which appeared to be unpleasantly close to the stern of the chase.
“The fellow is overhauling her,” exclaimed Mildmay. “Now, Elphinstone, with your permission, I will shift our helm and alter our course forty-five degrees to the nor’ard.”
And, so saying, he entered the pilot-house; and a moment later the watchers saw the two distant craft swing back along the horizon until the leading ship bore two points on the Flying Fish’s starboard bow.
“If you have no objection, Sir Reginald, I should like a torpedo-shell put into our bow tube,” observed Mildmay, as he emerged from the pilot-house.
“Certainly,” answered Sir Reginald; “I will go below and put one in at once.”
“Better let me do it,” interposed the professor. “I know more about the working of them than you do; and, moreover, I am not so profoundly interested in this affair as you all seem to be. Besides, I shall not be gone longer than five minutes at the utmost.”
And, Sir Reginald offering no objection, the worthy man turned away and vanished through the pilot-house door.
The leading ship was by this time within about five miles of the Flying Fish, and steering a course that would take her square across the bows of the latter; the two—or, indeed, the three—ships were therefore nearing each other fast, and the men fell to debating the question whether or not the Flying Fish had yet been seen by either of the strangers. The craft was in her usual surface-running trim; that is to say, considerably more than half of her polished hull was submerged, leaving little to be seen except her small superstructure and her pilot-house, both of which were painted a delicate blue-grey colour that would be scarcely visible against the horizon astern. The chances, therefore, were strongly in favour of her invisibility. On the other hand, there was just a possibility that some keen eye aboard the liner, anxiously scanning the horizon in quest of help, might have sighted her; in which case a glimpse of the white ensign might be comforting. Mildmay therefore went to the flag-locker and drew forth the white ensign which, in virtue of his being a member of the Royal Yacht Squadron, Sir Reginald was entitled to fly, and ran it up to the truck of the ensign staff.