[Illustration: An admiral's pinnace was approaching the shattered Olive Branch. Gerald hastened on deck to receive the distinguished officer.]
The pointers had been kept in position for such a length of time during the captain's collapse that every unit of electricity had escaped. Tregarthen realised that at their utmost capacity the dynamos would have to be working for six hours ere sufficient power was restored to bring the ZZ-rays up to their normal power.
It was to be by gunfire alone that the Olive Branch must complete her work of retrieving the fortunes of the day.
"Independent action!" roared the lieutenant through the speaking-tube, for the electrical indicators communicating with the turrets had been disorganised by the concussion of the shell that had burst inboard.
In the space of a quarter of an hour the supreme conflict was decided. The enemy's feint had been changed into a disorderly retreat; many were sunk by gunfire, while the remainder, overhauled by the superior speed of the British fleet, hoisted the white flag.
The naval Armageddon had been fought and won.
"Where's Sinclair?" asked Tregarthen, as the wearied, yet triumphant, crew came on deck to witness the British warships taking possession of their surrendered foes.
"Down, sir; fatally wounded, I fear."
"And the captain?"