A signal was immediately hoisted to let the castaways know that they were observed and the steamer's course was changed to bring her as near as possible to the drifting boat. But there was still such a heavy sea running that a near approach would have involved the risk of the boat being dashed against the Hawk's side before the occupants could be rescued. So the bos'n, standing on the foc'sle head, cast a line which, after three vain attempts, was caught by the young woman in the stern sheets, who made it fast to one of the thwarts. Then one of the steamer's derricks was slung outboard with a rope sling suspended and half a dozen men laid on to the line attached to the boat.

"Catch hold of that sling as you pass under it!" roared Calamity from the bridge.

After some difficult manoeuvring, boat and steamer were brought into such a position that the former passed immediately under the sling.

"Quick now, my girl, or you'll lose it!" shouted the Captain.

But, to the amazement and indignation of everyone, it was the man and not the girl who caught the sling and was hoisted safely out of the boat.

"Oh, the gory swine," growled the second-mate. "Get the derrick inboard, men," he added aloud.

The derrick swung round and the sling was let go with a run that deposited the man on the deck with a terrific bump.

"Outboard again!" cried Calamity. "Stand by, bos'n."

"Get up, you swab!" ejaculated the second-mate, administering the rescued man a heavy kick. "If the skipper wasn't lookin' I'd pitch your ugly carcass back into the ditch."

The fellow staggered to his feet and cast an ugly look at the Cockney. He was a great, hulking brute over six feet tall and broad in proportion, with a sullen, hang-dog countenance that was far from prepossessing.

"What d'you want to kick me for?" he asked truculently.

The second-mate was so astounded at what he regarded as super-colossal impudence and ingratitude, that he just gasped. Then, before he could recover his speech, the boatswain's mate came up, and, gripping the man by the collar of his jersey, ran him into the foc'sle.

Meanwhile two unsuccessful attempts had been made to repeat the first manoeuvre, but at the third the sling passed over the boat and the girl caught hold of it. Next moment she was swung on board and lowered gently to the deck.

"We ain't no stewardesses aboard this packet, Miss," said Mr. Dykes, who had arrived just in time to frustrate the second-mate in assisting the young woman to her feet. "Still, if you'll come to my cabin I'll send you somethin' hot and you can make free with my duds."

"Or you can go to my cabin," put in the second eagerly. "Sorry I 'aven't any 'airpins," he added with an admiring glance at the tawny mane of hair which had become unfastened during her passage from the boat to the ship's deck. "But I've a——"

"The young lady'll find better accommodation in my cabin, Smith," interrupted the mate. "This way, please," he added in the tone and manner of a shop-walker, and departed with his prize.

"Talk about nerve," muttered the disgruntled Smith. "That Yank's got more bloomin' nerve than a peddlin' auctioneer."

Calamity had sent word that, as soon as the survivors had been given food and dry clothes, they were to be brought into his cabin. Half an hour later, the man was ushered in by the mate and stood in front of the Captain with the same hang-dog air that he had exhibited when first rescued.

"Your name and all the rest of it, my man," said the skipper curtly.

"I'm Jasper Skelt, bos'n of the barque Esmeralda, London to Singapore," answered the fellow in a surly voice. "We were hit by that there typhoon and so far's I know she's at the bottom of the sea by now."

"What about the Captain and the rest of the crew?"

"The skipper was knocked overboard by a boom. Then the crew took to the boats and only me and Miss Fletcher, the Cap'n's daughter, was left. We tried to keep the ship head-on to the seas, but she sprang a leak and we had to abandon her."

"You don't know whether any of the other boats survived?"

"No, sir."

"And the ship's papers?"

"Miss Fletcher's got 'em."

"And now I want to know why you caught on to that sling before the woman had a chance?"

"She told me to, and anyhow my life's as good as hers," answered the man defiantly.

"I see. Well, by your own confession you're a coward, and by your looks you're a scoundrel," answered Calamity. "Mr. Dykes," he added, turning to the mate, "take this blackguard to Mr. McPhulach with my compliments and tell him to give the rascal the worst job he's got in the stokehold."

"I'm not going into no blasted stokehold!" cried the man fiercely. "You've no right to make me work, damn you!"

"Very good," answered Calamity in that quiet voice which those who knew him dreaded more than the most curseful outpourings. "You shall be a passenger as long as you wish. Take him back to the foc'sle, Mr. Dykes, and send the carpenter to me."

"Very good, sir," replied the mate, greatly wondering.

By the time the carpenter had received his instructions and departed to carry them out, the mate reported that the girl, whose clothes had been dried in front of the galley fire, was ready to be interviewed.

"Fetch her along then, Mr. Dykes," said the Captain.

A few moments later Miss Fletcher entered the cabin accompanied by the mate. She was, without doubt, the most remarkable young woman that either Calamity or his mate had ever set eyes on. Tall, and almost as powerfully built as a man, her face was nearly the colour of mahogany through constant exposure to the weather. Her eyes, a clear, cold grey, had an almost challenging steadiness and directness of gaze, and she held her head high as one who is accustomed to look the whole world squarely in the face. Her whole manner was a curious blending of authority and aloofness, suggesting a very difficult personality to deal with. But, if lacking much of conventional feminine charm, there was a freshness and vigour about her that was eminently pleasing. One womanly attraction she certainly did possess in abundance, and that was a wonderful mass of chestnut hair which she now wore tightly plaited round her head. For the rest, this extraordinary young woman was attired in a short, blue serge skirt, a man's blue woollen jersey, and a pair of rubber sea-boots.

"Sit down," said the Captain.

The girl obeyed, looking at Calamity with an expression of mingled perplexity and resentment. This may have been due to a little feminine pique at his seeming indifference to her sex—for he had not risen to his feet, nor had his face relaxed from its usual stern grimness. Or it may have been due to the fact that his glass eye was cocked fully upon her with its unswerving, disconcerting stare. The other eye—the practical one—was not looking at her at all, but was meditatively gazing down at the table.

"The man who was with you in the boat tells me that you are the daughter of the Captain of a barque," he said. "His story was not altogether satisfactory, so I should like to hear your version—as briefly as possible," he added with a snap.

A slight flush of annoyance tinged the girl's face. Evidently she was not used to being treated in this curt, unceremonious manner, and resented it. Mr. Dykes, who was very impressionable where the opposite sex was concerned, mentally compared the Captain's attitude with what his own would have been under similar circumstances.

"My name is Dora Fletcher, and my father, who was killed during the recent storm by being knocked overboard, was John Fletcher, master and owner of the barque Esmeralda of Newcastle," said the girl in a voice as curt as Calamity's own. "We were bound from London to Singapore with general cargo. During the height of the storm, the vessel sprang a leak and the crew took to the boats, but I doubt if any of them survived."

"So you and the bos'n, Jasper Skelt, were left on board?" said the Captain as the girl paused.

"Yes; Skelt would have gone with the men, only they threatened to throw him overboard if he did. He's a damned rascal."

Mr. Dykes started and even looked shocked. It was not so much the expletive itself which had disturbed his sense of propriety, but the cool, forceful manner in which it was uttered; obviously it was not the first time that Miss Fletcher had availed herself of this, as well as of other masculine prerogatives.

"You have the ship's papers?" asked Calamity.

For answer the young woman drew from beneath her jersey a packet of papers which she handed to the Captain. He glanced through them and then handed them back to her.

"I should prefer to leave them in your charge till I am put ashore," said the girl. "What port do you touch first?"

"I can't say. This is not an ordinary merchant ship, but a licensed privateer."

"A privateer! Then you expect to fight?"

"You will arrange what accommodation you can for Miss Fletcher, Mr. Dykes," said the Captain, ignoring her question.

"Yes, sir; I suppose she will have her food in the cabin, sir?"

"Not in this one, Mr. Dykes."

Again the hot, angry blood rushed to the girl's face and she turned a pair of blazing eyes on the Captain.

"Thank you for that privilege, at any rate!" she said with furious sarcasm.

"Not at all," murmured Calamity imperturbably, and made a gesture to signify that he wished to be alone.

As the mate escorted Miss Fletcher from the cabin, he was very nearly as hot and indignant as herself at the Captain's behaviour. Here was a handsome, strapping girl who had unexpectedly come into their midst and Calamity treated her as if she were a derelict deck-hand. He had not even expressed a word of sympathy for the death of her father.

"I'm real sorry you should have been treated like this," he said awkwardly. "The skipper ain't no dude, but I did think——"

"I assure you it makes no difference to me," interrupted the girl. "I am only too glad to think that I shan't have to see more of him than is necessary."

"An' you ain't the only one who thinks that way, Miss," answered the mate thoughtfully. "I wouldn't envy the man who took the inside track with him; it'd be as pleasant as takin' your grub in a den with a hungry lion."

Passing out of the alleyway, their ears were suddenly assailed by the sound of oaths, curses, and blasphemies, intermingled with threats, groans, and appeals for mercy. They emanated from Jasper Skelt, whose demands to be treated as a passenger were now receiving attention according to the Captain's instructions. Resting on two trestles placed one on each side of the after-hatch was a thick wooden beam, inclined so that one of its sharp edges was uppermost. Astride this unpleasant perch, his feet about six inches from the deck, was the ex-bos'n of the Esmeralda. His ankles were tied together beneath the beam, his wrists securely fastened behind his back, and to a cord round his neck was suspended a spit-kid—this last for the benefit of any man who felt a desire to expectorate. To judge from Skelt's condition, there were many indifferent marksmen aboard the Hawk.

"That guy was fool enough to sass the old man and now he's learnin' better," explained Mr. Dykes to his companion. "He ain't a pretty sight, is he?"

Seeing Miss Fletcher, the misguided Jasper had suddenly checked his output of assorted profanity and now wildly appealed to her for help.

"Surely you ain't going to stand by, Miss, and see me tortured like this!" he cried.

"You're a coward and it serves you right," answered the girl.

"Oh, you——" began the man, but someone interrupted him by shoving a wet deck-swab into his face.

"He'll be there four hours," said the mate as they walked aft. "By that time he won't have spirit enough to utter a cuss, not if you offered him a dollar for the pleasure of hearin' it. When the skipper does hand out trouble, he does it with both fists."

Mr. Dykes's prognostication was only partly correct, for the ex-bos'n, though a strong man, lost consciousness after the third hour and had to be carried into the foc'sle.

"Repeat the treatment to-morrow and every day until he volunteers to work," said Calamity when this was reported to him.

The "treatment" was not repeated, however, for, on recovering his senses, Mr. Skelt eagerly and anxiously begged to be allowed to share in the work of the crew.

On the following morning they picked up the smoke-trail of the German gunboat and the chase—if chase it could be called—was resumed.