The morning seemed to be quite lovely again, and we headed after her, smoke pouring out of all our funnels, and that leaky steam joint hissing more and more. Our bows began to break the water now, and the jelly-fish streamed past like a flash.
La Buena Presidente was covered with smoke too, and seemed to be in a jolly hurry to escape.
'She isn't going to fight after all,' I laughed, feeling awfully pleased.
'Don't know—they're getting down her rails and awnings,' Mr. Bigge said, looking through his glass.
So they were. We could see the men swarming on her quarterdeck and the awning coming off her.
I felt all shivery again, and heard the Gunlayer sing out from inside the turret, 'The longer they take about it the farther the sun'll be up, and it won't get in my bloomin' eyes so much.'
'It seems a shame to go killing people a morning like this, doesn't it?' Mr. Bigge muttered to himself, and I jolly well agreed with him.
We were buzzing along finely now, and could feel the ship shaking and throbbing.
The 'Angel' was still at the range finder, and our indicator showed 6250, when suddenly the big ship turned again—she was going at a tremendous speed—and—oh, it made my backbone feel cold—made straight for the entrance and El Castellan.
We still had our signal 'Stop Engines' flying, but there wasn't the least doubt now that she was simply going to rush past us. Clatter, clatter, came the signalmen down from the fore bridge to take shelter, everybody disappeared into their turrets, popping down the sighting-hoods like rabbits, the Captain and the Navigator came down and clambered through the top of the conning-tower, the 'Forlorn Hope,' with a grimace at me, squeezed himself into his turret and closed the armoured door, and, with my heart in my mouth, I wriggled down into mine.