A low murmur of applause from his officers greeted this announcement, and once again the English lieutenant returned to his ship.
"I am beginning to repent of our bargain, Mr. Tregarthen," remarked the captain. "But, by Jove! I'll keep my word. We are safe enough for the time being, for they will never dare to enter the harbour without obtaining the consent of the Chilian Government. Meanwhile I can only hope for an on-shore gale and a dark night."
All that day and the night following the blockading squadron remained on the _qui vive_, but on the next morning the gale that Captain Brookes wished for had begun.
Dead on shore it blew, the crested breakers thrashing upon the shallows that flanked the entrance. The sky was overcast, and heavy rain descended incessantly. At about noon the waves became so high that the British ships, already rolling their main decks under, stood out to sea so as to escape the discomforts of an on-shore berth. Nevertheless, as night fell, the searchlights played with unceasing vigilance upon the harbour of Talcahuano.
"Confound those searchlights!" muttered Captain Brookes, then turning to Gerald he exclaimed, "Look here, Mr. Tregarthen, does my compact forbid me the use of the Z-rays? I think not."
Gerald did not know what to reply. This act alone could hardly be termed a belligerent one, and at the same time no permanent damage to _personnel_ or material was likely to ensue.
"I'll risk it," continued the captain, and giving orders to clear deck for general quarters, he made his way to the conning-tower.
One glance at the foaming bar where the water gleamed silvery white under the beams of the concentrated searchlights showed him that the plan was a desperate one. A deviation of half a cable's length to port or starboard would be fatal even to the _Olive Branch_, for no vessel could run aground on those deadly shoals and hope to survive.
Suddenly, as if by the touch of a magic hand, the searchlights vanished, leaving only a black expanse of storm-tossed waters. Captain Brookes had made use of the Z-rays.
Slowly the anchor came home from its muddy bed, the engine-room telegraph signalled full speed ahead, and at her utmost possible speed the _Olive Branch_ dashed towards the bar, every revolution of her propellers bringing her nearer the alert yet mystified British squadron.