The four battleships were still in line ahead, the following craft being almost hidden in the dense cloud of smoke from the flagship's funnels.
Three miles to port and starboard were the light cruisers, standing out clearly in the tropical sunshine. Farther away, ahead, astern, and on both beams, were the destroyers detailed for anti-submarine work, while two separate flotillas, held in reserve for a torpedo attack upon the Rioguayan fleet, were almost invisible in the waste of sun-flecked water.
Broad on the port beam could be discerned the land, San Valodaran territory. Farther astern the coast-line dipped. The gap was the broad estuary of the Rio Guaya. The British admiral had got between the enemy and their sole means of regaining port. Provided he could head the Rioguayan fleet away from neutral territorial waters, he knew that there was nothing to prevent his bringing them to an engagement.
Again and again Peter swept the horizon ahead with his binoculars. Nothing—not even a blur of smoke—obscured the clearly defined line which cut sea and sky. But far away out yonder wireless messages were being sent by the scouting destroyers, announcing with ever increasing certainty that the enemy was still coming south.
Two bells of the afternoon watch sounded off. Peter could hardly realize that fifty minutes had elapsed since he ascended to his eyrie. Surely it was about time, with the rival fleets approaching at an aggregate rate of from forty to fifty-five knots, that something was seen of the enemy?
A few seconds later and a triple hoist of bunting crept past the fore-top. Fifty answering pennants were almost immediately hoisted on fifty different ships, large and small. Then a burst of cheering—a huge volume of sound—came from the invisible crews of the battleships, to be taken up by their comrades in the cruisers and on until the furthermost destroyer within signalling distance joined in the roar of appreciation.
It was the Admiral's battle signal:
"Strike hard, strike straight for England."
"There they are, by smoke!" exclaimed one of Peter's companions in the fore-top.
Peter raised his glasses. With uncanny suddenness, the hitherto unbroken skyline was dotted with the masts, funnels, and superstructures of a host of vessels, their hulls still below the horizon. Approaching each other at the rate of an express train, the rival fleets were now within visual distance or, roughly, fifteen miles.