Throughout the day the scantily clothed Bantu workmen had been busily engaged in unloading the steelwork. The natives, unlike their Portuguese masters, had to keep hard at it, with the result that by the time "knock-off" was announced and the Bantus, resuming their calico skirt-like garments, had trooped ashore, the S.S. West Barbican drew five feet less for\'ard than when she crossed the bar. Captain Bullock\'s interview with Senhor José Aguilla was of a mutually satisfactory nature. The latter undertook to store and look after the consignment of the Kilba Protectorate until such time as it was claimed by the authorities. The terms were so many thousand milreis per month, a sum that on paper looked truly formidable, but actually was equal to about seven pounds of English money.

The Old Man was pleased to get the steelwork off his hands so reasonably. Senhor Aguilla was pleased because he had the steelwork on his hands. That was the difference.

The Portuguese knew that the longer the consignment remained unclaimed the longer he would continue to draw a fairly substantial sum for wharfage and storage; and, although he promised to forward a letter to the Kilba Protectorate agent at Pangawani by the next weekly steamer, he meant to take steps to prevent, for as long as he possibly could, the information concerning the steelwork reaching the proper quarter.

Having, as he thought, satisfactorily settled with Senhor Aguilla Captain Bullock sent for his Wireless Officer.

"That means a ticking off, I expect," thought Peter, when Mahmed delivered the message. "The Old Man\'s rattled about his motor-launch."

Mostyn was only partly right in his surmise. Captain Bullock was annoyed, which was natural enough. No boat-owner likes to have his craft damaged, especially when he is not on board. He has a sort of feeling that the accident, whatever it might be, would not have occurred had he been present. It was an awkward mishap. Until the West Barbican returned to Durban, or some other large port, it would be hopeless to expect to obtain a new propeller.

But the skipper, in spite of his bluntness, was a just man. He dealt with cases impartially, and no one having been censured by him had good reason to doubt his judgment.

Peter went to the skipper\'s cabin and reported the circumstances of the accident. The Old Man listened attentively until the Wireless Officer had finished his narrative; then he pointed to a chart of Bulonga Harbour that was lying on the desk.

"Show me where the stranding occurred, Mr. Mostyn. What, there? On the port-hand side of the channel?"

"Yes, sir."

Captain Bullock had no cause to doubt Peter\'s word, but he made up his mind to question the two lascars who were in the boat, and also to see if Miss Baird could throw any light upon the matter.

"H\'m. I suppose the river has changed its bed," he remarked. "African rivers have a nasty habit of doing that. It was unfortunate that you struck a snag; otherwise it wouldn\'t have mattered very much. All right, carry on."

Abdullah Bux and his compatriot could give no definite information. Miss Baird, for the present, was not available. The strident tones of Mrs. Shallop indicated pretty clearly that the lady was bullying the girl for her prolonged and involuntary absence.

At sunrise next morning the West Barbican, drawing considerably less water than she had done eighteen hours previously, recrossed the bar. The Portuguese pilot was dropped, and a course steered to pass through the broad Mozambique Channel. Without exception all on board were glad to get away from the malodorous harbour of Bulonga.

On the afternoon of the seventh day after leaving Durban the weather "came on dirty". A heavy wind from the east\'ard raised a nasty sea, which would have been angry but for the torrential downpour of rain that had the effect of beating down the crested waves.

As darkness set in the sky was almost one continuous blaze of vivid sheet lightning. The rain was still heavy but the wind piped down, blowing softly from the nor\'-east.

"We haven\'t seen the last of this yet," declared Preston. "The glass is a bit jumpy. It\'ll blow like billy-ho before morning. How about your aerial, Sparks? Aren\'t you going to disconnect it?"

The two officers, clad in oilskins and precious little else, were keeping the first watch. There was nothing doing in the wireless-cabin. Atmospherics were present, but, apart from these disturbances, no sound had been audible in the telephones during the best part of Peter\'s watch. Insufferably hot, he had put on an oilskin and had gone out for a breather.

"No need," he replied. "At least not until we get forked lightning."

"I\'m not sorry we\'ve got shot of that steelwork," remarked the Acting Chief after a pause. "It\'s awkward stuff to carry. But the trouble of it is that removing it has altered our deviation. The compass cannot possibly be the same with that enormous amount of metal taken out of the ship. I suggested to the Old Man that we ought to have swung the old hooker before we left Bulonga and adjusted compasses. But he was in a hurry to get under way, and, apart from that, the harbour was so shallow that we couldn\'t get a clear swing. She\'s not far out on this bearing. I took a sight at the Southern Cross for that. Talking of compasses: did you hear that yarn about the Flinder\'s bar?"

"About the candidate for Mate\'s certificate who told the examiner that: \'There ain\'t no pub o\' that name in Gravesend\'?" asked Peter.

"No, but that\'s not so dusty," replied Preston. "My yarn concerns an old skipper in the Penguin Line. He was——"

But Mostyn was not to hear the anecdote.

A violent concussion, as if the ship had struck a rock, almost threw the two men off their feet. A muffled report followed.

"Mined, by Jove!" exclaimed Preston, in the brief lull that succeeded the detonation.

Then pandemonium was let loose. The lascars, yelling and shouting, poured on deck, followed by a mob of native firemen. Capable enough in ordinary circumstances, the Indians lacked the stolidity and grim courage of British crews when disaster, sudden and unexpected, stared them in the face.

Captain Bullock was quickly on the bridge. He could do little or nothing to allay the panic, for the native petty officers were as frantic as the rest. To add to the difficulties of the situation, every light on board went out. Vast clouds of smoke and steam were issuing through the engine-room fiddleys. The propeller was slowing down. The engineer on watch had, on his own initiative, cut off steam and opened the high-pressure gauges.

The Old Man shouted through the speaking-tube to the engine-room. There was no response.

Just then, in the glare of the lightning, he caught sight of Anstey, who, awakened by the explosion, had hurried to the bridge in his pyjamas and uniform cap.

"Nip below, Mr. Anstey, and see the extent of the damage," he ordered.

Anstey turned to obey. At the head of th............