"Ten thousand, sir."
"Drop another mile—there—she's below the horizon now. Full speed ahead."
The sough of the dense air against the yacht's hull rose to a deafening roar. The heat in the cupola became intense, and had to be modified with a spray of liquid air. Brand returned to the telescope.
"There she is," he shouted. "I'll try to ram her propeller—watch my hand and steer as I beckon—she hasn't sighted us—couple on the auxiliary engines—all the speed you've got. Her hull makes such a blinding glare in the sun—I can scarcely see. Rise one hundred feet—ten more feet—stand by to ram—five down—she's moving! Starboard! Starboard! She's turning to ram—starboard more—more—more! Missed, by God!
Brand dashed across to the after windows. "Rise!" he yelled. "Rise, full speed—she's after us—she's charging! Back of all! Guns, Simpson! Guns! The lunatic has guns! Some Navy duffer has mounted heavy artillery. Back full speed, she's on us——"
Brand threw himself across the instrument table, set the formula for explosives, banged down the key, flashed out the electric waves for high explosives. Her red-hot bows cleaving the hurricane, the Gigantic came roaring down full on the broadside, flame streaming from her guns, shells bursting. Her ram was within a hundred yards, within fifty, the yacht, struck by the bow waves, fell reeling over on her beam ends, lost in a cloud of blazing scarlet light, crushed down by enormous jagged wreckage of steel.
Then she righted, rolling violently, alone in heaven, while far down through space fell incandescent fragments of the lost Gigantic, destroyed by her own magazines.
XV
CAST OUT OF HEAVEN
Lyonesse had been in a state of trance, her factories silent, her house-fronts barricaded, her streets deserted, save for marching troops, and the grim shadows of patrolling warships.