When Alwyn reached that part of the deck where he had last seen the passengers he found it deserted. Miles, at the report of the cruiser's quick-firer, had bolted below. Young Tarrant, with the characteristic inquisitiveness that an Englishman often shows even in the most dangerous situations, had gone for'ard to investigate the result of the damage. Colonel Vivian, his daughter, and the steward were bending over the deck-chair on which Mrs. Vivian had been reclining. She was still reclining but in a very different condition, for as Burgoyne approached he heard the steward say:

"I can't do any more, sir. Weak heart... the sudden shock... no, sir, no sign of life. I'll have to be going. There's work for me to do up there." He indicated the bridge, where, between the gaping holes in the canvas of the bridge rails, could be seen prostrate writhing forms amidst the pungent eddying smoke. Grasping his first-aid outfit, the man ran along the deck, seemingly unmindful of the fact that more shells would soon be playing havoc with the devoted Donibristle.

The steward's words were only too true. The sudden and unexpected shock, when the cruiser dealt her cowardly blow, had deprived Mrs. Vivian of life. Never very strong, and suffering from a weak heart, she had died before either her husband or her daughter could get to her.

It was no time for expressions of regret. Alwyn's instructions were imperative. The passengers must be ordered below.

"As sharp as you can, Colonel Vivian," he said; "we don't know what that vessel will do next."

The colonel pointed to the deck-chair with its inanimate occupant. He was incapable of doing anything of a heavy nature by reason of his injured leg.

Alwyn glanced at Hilda. The girl understood and nodded silently. Raising the burdened chair they carried it down the companion-way, the colonel following as quickly as his crippled limb would allow.

"You'll be safe here, I think," he said, but in his mind he knew that there was no place on board the ship where immunity might be found from those powerful 4-inch shells. He could only hope that Providence would shield the gently-nurtured girl from those flying fragments of red-hot steel. "I must go on deck," he added. "I'll let you know when we're out of danger."

At the foot of the companion ladder he stopped and beckoned to the colonel.

"I may as well tell you," he said hurriedly, "the cruiser is a pirate, her crew mostly Chinese. She does two knots to our one. You'll understand?"

"I do," replied the colonel simply. He had faced peril and death many times, but never before had he done so with his wife and daughter.

"You know where Mostyn's cabin is," continued Burgoyne. "There are plenty of his things and I'm afraid he won't want them. Tell Miss Vivian to change into his clothes, cut her hair short, and disguise herself as much as she can. If it isn't necessary there's not much harm done; if it is—well, you know, sir."

The Third Officer gained the deck just as the Donibristle had completed her turning manoeuvre and was steadying on her helm. His quick glance took in the situation at a glance.

"The Old Man's going to ram her, by Jove!" he exclaimed. "That's the stuff to give 'em."

"Lie down, sir!" shouted a voice. "Skipper's orders."

The warning came from one of a group of men prone upon the deck. Alwyn was quick to obey. He realized the result of a deadweight of 6000 tons crashing into the side of a stoutly-built steel cruiser.

Full length upon the quivering planks, for Angus had risen to the occasion and the Donibristle's engines were pulsating harder than ever they had done before, Burgoyne could not resist the temptation to raise his head and watch the proceedings.

From his unusual point of vantage, for his eyes were only about eight inches above the deck, Burgoyne had the impression that he was looking at a cinematographic picture, as the light-grey hull of the pirate cruiser not only seemed to increase in size but also moved quickly from left to right.

"Now for it!" he thought, and braced himself anew to meet the shock.

But the impact never came. Without doubt the black-hearted villains who controlled the cruiser knew how to handle a vessel, for almost the moment the Donibristle starboarded helm, the pirate craft began to forge ahead. Rapidly gathering speed, she contrived to elude the merchantman's bluff bows by a matter of a few feet. It was close enough to enable some of the former's crew to hurl a couple of bombs upon the Donibristle's deck, where they burst with little material effect, although the double explosion caused a momentary panic amongst the prostrate men in the vicinity.

Captain Blair had shot his bolt. He realized the fact. Another opportunity to ram his opponent would not occur. He could only attempt to seek safety in flight, and that, he knew, was a forlorn hope, owing to the vast difference in speed between the two ships.

Giving the Donibristle full starboard helm until she heeled outwards a good fifteen degrees, the Old Man steadied her when she was heading in a totally different direction to that of her assailant. In addition she was dead in the eye of the wind, and the smoke pouring from her funnels, and from the three separate conflagrations on deck, served to put up a screen between her and the pirate. By the time the latter had turned in pursuit (she circled rapidly under the contrary action of her twin screws) the Donibristle had gained a good two miles.

"She'll be winging us in a brace of shakes," declared Captain Blair, as the steward deftly bound lint over the Old Man's forehead. "Clear out of this, Barnes. You fellows too. She's out to cripple us, not to sink the old hooker. I'll carry on by myself."

The officers, quartermaster, and hands on the bridge had no option. They protested unavailingly. Captain Blair had a way of getting his orders carried out. Reluctantly they obeyed. They knew that the bridge would be the principal objective of the hostile guns, that it was doomed to destruction, and that the rest of the ship would come off lightly.

Burgoyne received the Old Man's order when he was half-way up the bridge ladder. Full of admiration for the grim, resolute figure of the wounded skipper, standing in solitude upon the shell-wrecked bridge, he turned and gained the deck.

A figure, crawling on hands and knees from underneath a pile of shattered, smouldering woodwork, attracted the Third Officer's attention. To his surprise he recognized Mostyn, the senior wireless officer Until that moment Burgoyne, like everyone who had seen the wireless cabin disappear with the explosion of the 4-inch shell, had taken it for granted that its occupant had been blown to pieces; but by one of those freaks of fate Mostyn had not only survived, but had escaped serious injury. He had been temporarily stunned, bruised, and cut in a score of places, his one-time white patrol uniform was scorched, torn, and discoloured, but he had emerged wrathful if not triumphant.

"The blighters!" he muttered. "Another twenty seconds and I'd have got the message through. Can you get me something to drink, old son?"

"I'll get you below, out of it," said Alwyn. "They'll reopen fire soon, I'm afraid."

He bent to raise the wounded operator, but Mostyn expostulated vehemently.

"Don't," he exclaimed. "It hurts frightfully. I'll carry on by myself if you'll stand by."

He crawled painfully to the companion-way. There his bodily strength gave out, and he collapsed inertly against the coaming. Finding that Mostyn was insensible and no longer capable of feeling pain, Burgoyne literally gathered him in his arms and carried him below. Before he had handed over his burden to the care of the steward, the ship quivered from stem to stern, and a hollow roar reverberated 'tween decks. The pirate had reopened fire.

Burgoyne regained the open. He did not feel particularly happy at having to do so. It would have been preferable to remain in the comparative shelter afforded by the thin steel plates and bulkheads. There was no reason why he should not take cover except that some of his comrades were exposed to the far-flying slivers of steel.

The after funnel had carried away. Guided by the unsevered wire guys it had fallen inboard, and was lying diagonally across the riddled casings and a couple of boats that were slung inboard. Smoke pouring from the base of the funnel was sweeping aft, hiding the bridge and fore part of the ship in a pall of oil-reeking, black vapour.

He glanced astern. The pirate vessel was coming up hand over fist, and with a certain amount of caution had taken up a position on the Donibristle's starboard quarter. She thus achieved a double purpose. She was no longer impeded by the smoke from her intended prey; and there was no risk of her propellers fouling ropes and baulks of timber deliberately thrown overboard from the merchantman.

The pirate's bow gun spoke again, followed almost simultaneously by the for'ard quick-firer of the starboard battery. A heavy object crashed upon the Donibristle's deck from overhead. Owing to the smoke the Third Officer could not see what it was.

"Our other smoke-stack, I think," he soliloquized. "By Jove! What are those fellows up to?"

His attention was directed towards a group of men standing aft. With an utter disregard of danger, seven or eight men were throwing articles into one of the quarter-boats—their scanty personal belongings, tins of provisions, and kegs of fresh water.

"Belay there!" shouted Burgoyne. "Time enough when you get the order to abandon ship. Take cover."

Even as he spoke the staccato sound of a machine-gun came from the for'ard superstructure of the cruiser. The luckless men, caught in the open by the hail of nickel bullets, were swept away like flies. Nor did the machine-gun cease until every boat in davits on the Donibristle's port side was riddled through and through. Splinters of wood flew in all directions. Metal bullets rattled like hail against the steel framework of the deck-houses, and zipped like swarms of angry bees when they failed to encounter any resistance save that of the air.

By this time the speed of the Donibristle had fallen to a bare seven knots. The destruction of both funnels and consequent reduction of draught had counteracted the strenuous efforts of Angus and the engine-room staff to "keep their end up". Far below the water-line, working in semi-darkness owing to the fact that the hammering to which the boat had been subjected had broken the electric-light current, unable to see what was going on, the "black squad" toiled like Trojans in the unequal contest with the fast and powerfully armed pirate.

A glance astern showed the Third Officer that the Donibristle was steering a somewhat erratic course. The straggling wake was evidence of that. Perhaps it was intentional on the Old Man's part in order to baffle the pirate gun-layers; but Burgoyne decided to make sure on that point.

Crossing to the starboard side, so that the partly-demolished deck structure might afford a slight amount of cover, Alwyn ran for'ard. Scrambling over mounds of debris and crawling under the wrecked funnels he hurried, holding his breath as he dashed through the whirling wreaths of smoke.

At last he arrived at the starboard bridge ladder—or rather where the ladder had been. Only two or three of the brass-edged steps remained. Here he paused. The edge of the bridge hid the skipper from his view. He retraced his steps for a few paces and looked again. There was the Old Man still grasping the wheel. The sides of the wheel-house were shattered, daylight showed through the flat roof, but Captain Blair remained at the post of honour and danger.

It was evident that he had been hit again. One arm hung helplessly by his side. The white sleeve of his tunic was deeply stained.

Burgoyne hesitated no longer. He wondered why the Second Officer had not noticed the skipper's predicament, but the Second had followed the First, and was lying motionless across the dismounted binnacle.

Without waiting to cross over to the port side and ascend by the almost intact ladder, Burgoyne swarmed up one of the steel rails supporting the bridge, and gained the dangerously swaying structure.

The Old Man looked at him as he approached.

"Women aboard," he muttered, like a man speaking to himself. "Women aboard and the dirty swine are firing into us. Worse than Huns."

"Shall I carry on, sir?" asked Burgoyne.

"No," was the reply. "But—yes. Carry on, I've stopped something here. Feel a bit dazed."

He stood aside and allowed Alwyn to take his place at the wheel. In the absence of a compass there was nothing definite to steer by. The Donibristle, like a sorely-stricken animal, was merely staggering blindly along at the mercy of her unscrupulous pursuer.

Then it dawned upon the Third Officer that the cruiser had not fired for some minutes. It was too much to hope that the pirate, sighting another craft, had sheered off. He glanced aft, across the debris-strewn decks, tenanted only by the dead. The pirate cruiser was still there. She had closed her distance, and was about two cables' lengths on the merchantman's starboard quarter. She had lowered the White Ensign, and now displayed a red flag with the skull and crossbones worked in black on the centre of the field. This much Alwyn saw, but what attracted his immediate attention was the plain fact that he was looking straight at the muzzles of four of the pirate's quick-firers, and, as the cruiser forged ahead, those sinister weapons were trained so that they pointed at the merchantman's bridge and the two men on it.

Burgoyne realized that if those guns spoke he would not stand a dog's chance. Through long-drawn-out moments of mental torture he waited for the lurid flash that meant utter annihilation. He wanted to shout: "For Heaven's sake fire and finish with me."

Yet the quick-firers remained silent, although not for one moment did the weapons fail to keep trained upon the Donibristle's bridge. There were machine-guns, too, served by yellow, brown, and white featured ruffians, who were awaiting the order to let loose a tornado of bullets upon the defenceless merchantman.

The tension was broken by the appearance of a gigantic mulatto, who, clambering on to the domed top of the for'ard gun-shield, began to semaphore a message. He sent the words slowly, coached by a resplendently-garbed villain who spelt out the message letter by letter.

The signal as received read thus:

"Surrend ers hip savey our lifs. Ifno tuues ink shipa ndnoq uarta."

"What's that fellow signalling?" asked Captain Blair. Faint with loss of blood he could only just discern the slow motion of the coloured hand-flags.

Burgoyne signified that the message was understood, and bent to speak to the wounded skipper.

"They've signalled, 'Surrender the ship and save your lives; if not we will sink you and give no quarter'."

The Old Man raised himself on one elbow. The pulse on his uninjured temple was working like a steam piston.

"Surrender the ship!" he exclaimed vehemently. "I'll see them to blazes first."