The destroyers that had been on ahead of the battleships, their mission for the time being accomplished, had turned tail and were taking station astern. The chance of getting to work with the deadly torpedo was not yet. Until gun-fire had demoralized the half-tried gunners of the Rioguayan battleships, it was a purposeless, futile business to dispatch thinly-plated destroyers against armoured ships bristling with quick-firers.
Suddenly Peter caught a glimpse of a couple of flying-boats hovering well in advance of the British ships. Apparently they were engaged upon reconnoitring duties—for they made no attempt to take up a position favourable for bomb-dropping.
As a matter for precaution, Peter turned out one of the anti-aircraft apparatus with its crew, but it was neither the time nor the occasion to make use of the rays. Had the hostile aircraft been bombing machines intent upon scoring a hit, the case would have been different; but they were spotting machines, up to record the results of salvoes and to acquaint the Rioguayan admiral of the disposition of the British ships. The light cruisers would deal with them.
It was the Cadogan that brought her rays into action. Both flying-boats dropped like shot partridges, recovering in time to enable them to volplane to the water. Here they drifted helplessly until a destroyer ranged alongside each in succession, removed the crews, who did not offer the slightest resistance, and sent the abandoned aircraft to the bottom.
"Neat work that," thought Peter. "It proves that friend Ramon Diaz hasn't found an antidote for the rays. Apparently he's satisfied with stealing Uncle Brian's secret."
Meanwhile the four battleships had deployed into single line abreast, each with the object of getting its four 15-inch guns of A and B turrets to bear upon the enemy.
So engrossed was Peter with the little episode of the flying-boats, that the distant rumble of heavy gunfire—sounding like a subdued thudding upon a bass drum—failed to attract his attention.
A few seconds later a veritable cauldron of foam, a dozen separate pillars of spray, announced to him and to a favoured few who could see what was going on outside the ship, that the action had commenced by the enemy opening fire. As a gratifying corollary was the knowledge that the salvo had fallen short.
"Sixteen thousand five hundred," chaunted the range-finding lieutenant, the moment the battleship had emerged from the slowly dispersing wall of spray.
"Train fifteen red," sang out another voice in a lower key.