ey ought to have been
by this time; but the British Flag still floated over them! The harbour
was almost filled with mutilated warships, and others were slowly
steaming towards the two entrances; but every one of these was flying
the White Ensign of England! There was not a French or German flag to be
seen--and there, all along the coast, which should have been in the
possession of the Allies by now, lay the ragged line of helpless hulks
which would never take the sea again.

What had happened? Where were the splendid fleets which were to have
battered the English defence into impotence? Where was the Reserve,
which was to have convoyed the transports across the narrow waters?
Where were the transports themselves and the half million men, horses
and artillery which to-day they were to land upon the stricken shores of
Kent?

With that marvellous intuition which is so often allied with the Keltic
genius, he saw in a flash all, or something like all, that had really
happened as a consequence of the loss of the depot ship at Spithead, and
the venting of his own mad hatred of the Saxon on the three defenceless
towns. The Channel Fleet had come, after all, in time, and defeated
Admiral Durenne's fleet; the Reserve cruisers had escaped, and
Portsmouth had been re-taken!

Would that have happened if he had used the scores of shells which he
had wasted in mere murder and destruction against the ships of the
Channel Fleet? It would not, and no one knew it better than he did.

Still, even now there was time to retrieve that ghastly mistake which
had cost the Allies a good deal more than even he had guessed at. He was
Admiral of the Aerial Squadrons, and, save under orders from
headquarters, free to act as he thought fit against the enemy. If his
passion had lost victory he could do nothing less than avenge defeat.

He ran up his telescopic mast and swerved to the southward to meet the
squadron from Calais, flying his admiral's flag, and under it the
signal:

"I wish to speak to you."

The _Flying Fish_ and the _See Adler_ quickened up, and the others
slowed down until they met about two thousand feet above the sea.
Castellan ran the _Flying Fish_ alongside the Commodore of the other
Squadron, and in ten minutes he had learned what the other had to tell,
and arranged a plan of operations.

Within the next five minutes three of the seven craft had dropped to
the water and disappeared beneath it. The other four, led by the