The German gunboat, that the Hawk had been following so assiduously, had disappeared in the fog of the Sunday on which the Ann was stopped. Nevertheless, Calamity set the course each day with an unhesitating decisiveness which seemed to suggest that he had some definite plan in view. A day or two after that encounter a large steam-yacht painted war-grey, and flying no ensign, was sighted steaming in a northerly direction. Calamity, who was on the bridge at the time, examined her through his glasses and then handed them to Smith, the mate being below.

"What do you make of her?" he asked.

The second-mate, after a long and careful scrutiny, handed the glasses back.

"Looks like a commerce-destroyer," he said, "but blowed if I can tell what nationality she is."

"H'm, we'll soon find out," answered the Captain. "Go for'ad and send a shot after her as soon as I've altered the course."

Smith left the bridge, and, mounting the foc'sle, took the tarpaulin cover off the quick-firer which was mounted there. Meanwhile Calamity had brought the Hawk's nose round so that he was now in the wake of the strange ship.

"All ready, sir!" shouted Smith.

"Then let her have it."

The second-mate carefully laid the gun and next minute a shell went hurtling over the yacht's stern; too high to do any damage, yet near enough to make any nervous persons on board feel more nervous still. The noise brought the privateer's crew tumbling on deck, eager to see what was happening. Then, before the sound of the shot had died away, the yacht was observed to be changing her course—steaming round in the arc of a circle to starboard of the Hawk. Obviously she was not running away, and the inference was that she intended to fight.

"Pipe to quarters!" cried Calamity from the bridge; but before the bos'n had time to obey the order the men were rushing to their places. It seemed as if there was going to be a fight at last.

The yacht, a steamer of about 3,000 tons, came round with her bows pointing towards the Hawk's starboard quarter, and, as she reached that position, there came the sullen boom of a gun. A shell whistled above the privateer's upper works, smashing to splinters one of the boats which the carpenter had been repairing on the davits. A second shot followed hard upon the first, and then a third, which smashed one of the raised skylights above the engine-room, sending a shower of broken glass upon the men below.

"Blimey!" ejaculated Smith as he stood by his gun, lanyard in hand, "this looks like the real thing—not half it don't."

The damage done by the last two shots would have been greater still had not Calamity thrust the quartermaster away from the wheel and taken it himself. Under his control, the Hawk slewed round so that she presented only her bows as a target for her opponent. As the sound of the latter's guns died away, she was seen to hoist the German naval ensign at her stern, while a signal hoist was run up to the mast-head signifying "Surrender or I sink you."

There was a lull, the two vessels facing each other bows-on like a couple of fierce dogs about to fight. Then a little bundle trundled up to the Hawk's triatic stay, broke, and two burgees, one blue and white, the other red, fluttered out in the breeze. It was Calamity's answer: "Stand by to abandon ship." As his men looked up and read the signal there was a burst of hoarse laughter, followed by a ringing cheer. They realised the grim humour of the message, and thoroughly appreciated it.

During the next half-hour the engagement consisted only of the exchange of a few shots, one or two of which did damage on both sides. The belligerents were manoeuvring for position, each trying to force the other to fight facing the sun, which would, of course, place him at a serious disadvantage. While these tactical evolutions were in progress, a couple of the Hawk's men received wounds and Miss Fletcher, who had been watching the spectacle through her cabin porthole, rushed on deck, in spite of the risk she ran of being hit herself. She was helping to remove one of the injured men, when Calamity caught sight of her.

"Send that fool-woman to her cabin!" he roared to Mr. Dykes.

The mate hesitated. He was extraordinarily impressed by the girl's plucky act, but the Captain's order, though a wise one, struck him as being unduly harsh. Besides, he was loth to miss such a unique opportunity of, perhaps, doing daring deeds under her very eyes.

"D'you hear what I say?" shouted the Captain.

"Excuse me, sir," he answered; "but who's to look after the wounded if Miss Fletcher doesn't?"

"If the girl wants to make herself useful she can dress the men's wounds in the hold. But I won't have a woman on deck during a fight."

It was an ungracious order, but Mr. Dykes had nothing for it but to leave the bridge and acquaint Miss Fletcher with the Captain's instructions.

"The skipper's compliments," he said, "and would you attend to the wounded when they're taken down to the hold?"

The girl glanced at him sharply; probably the hesitating manner in which he spoke roused her suspicions.

"That's not what he said?" she challenged.

"Well, I guess it's as near as no matter."

"You mean he has ordered me off the deck?"

The mate made a deprecatory gesture and turned away. For a moment the girl hesitated, half inclined to defy the Captain's orders and remain on deck. Then the futility of any such act of defiance occurred to her, and she returned to her cabin, locking the door behind her.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, stamping her foot with rage, "I hate him!"

She continued to hate him ardently for a while, and then, as this gave little real satisfaction, she opened her cabin door and peered out just as Smith was passing.

"Are you going on to the bridge?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, pausing.

"Then be good enough to tell the Captain that he can tend the wounded himself," she burst out, and slammed the door before the astonished second-mate could recover from his surprise.

He duly delivered her message, but it was doubtful if Calamity heard it; certainly he made no comment, and Smith thought it wise to let the matter go at that.

The two vessels were still fencing and manoeuvring, getting a shot in when and wherever they could. But at last both the commanders tired of these fruitless tactics, and then the engagement began in real earnest. The yacht was armed with lighter guns than those of her opponent, but she had more of them, and, in addition, possessed the advantage of speed, being capable of answering her helm twice as quickly as the privateer. This enabled her to swing round at all angles, catch the Hawk broadside-on and sweep her decks fore and aft. Notwithstanding this, she by no means had it all her own way, for the privateer kept up a steady, well-trained fire that made things aboard her adversary more than lively.

As only those men who served the guns were allowed on deck, the casualties were relatively small on the Hawk. Whenever a man fell, his place was taken by another from the reserve men in the foc'sle and thus unnecessary losses were avoided. A hospital of sorts had been rigged up in the for'ad hold and here the wounded men were carried and placed on mattresses until such time as they could be attended to.

Calamity had thrown off his jacket, and, with arms bared to the elbows, was working the quick-firer on the bridge, three of the gun's crew having been killed or wounded.

"Hit her amidships, in the engine-room!" he shouted to Mr. Dykes, who had charge of the gun on the poop.

A minute or two later there was a loud explosion on the yacht, owing to one of her guns being hit while loaded, by a shell from the Hawk. A wild cheer went up from the privateers' men, and Calamity, thinking he might board his adversary in the confusion, bellowed an order to the quartermaster.

"Hard a starboard! Quick, damn your eyes!"

"Hard a——" the quartermaster started to echo, but before he could finish a fragment of shell struck him, and Calamity, swinging round to see what had happened, was bespattered with blood and brains. He sprang to the wheel, and, pushing aside the dead body with his foot, altered the helm. But it was too late, the other had divined his purpose and was drawing off. Instantly the Hawk started in pursuit, but, as she came round in the yacht's wake, a ricocheting shell dropped through the engine-room skylight and there was an explosion below which shook the vessel from stem to stern. Volumes of hissing steam ascended through the gratings and ventilators, while, above the roar, came the agonised shrieks of some wretched firemen who were being scalded to death in the stokehold.

A man, his face a wet, shapeless, raw mass of flesh, stumbled out of the fiddley, staggered a few paces, and fell sprawling on the deck. Another followed whose hair, still attached to the skin, was falling off in lumps, and he, too, collapsed on the deck. At the same moment the steady throb of the engines ceased and the Hawk began to lose way. Meanwhile the German had drawn off, and, for the time being, firing ceased on both sides. The enemy, it would seem, was in little better condition than the privateer, for she was steaming at a rate of certainly not more than five knots. Calamity, watching her from the bridge, cursed aloud as he saw his hoped-for prize slowly but surely getting away while he was unable to prevent her or to go in pursuit.

"Send for McPhulach!" he cried; but, before anyone could obey, the chief-engineer mounted to the bridge.

"I'm sair dootin' we'll hae to bide where we are," he remarked placidly.

"Do you mean to say the engines are wrecked?" demanded Calamity.

"I wouldna go sae far as tae say that," answered the engineer. "Ye micht speak o' them as assorted scrap-iron."

The Captain laid a firm hand on McPhulach's arm.

"You've got to repair those engines," he said quietly.

"Eh!"

"You heard me."

"Losh presarve us, mon, the A'michty Himsel' couldna do it!"

"The Almighty's not chief engineer of the Hawk, so you needn't worry about that. Get those engines going or I'll string you up at the end of a derrick."

"Guid God, are ye mad, mon!" gasped the engineer.

"Mad or sane, I'll do what I say."

"I tell ye the engine-room's like a steam-laundry," wailed McPhulach. "There isna a pipe that isna squairting steam out of some crack or itha, and it'll take all the cotton-waste in the ship to bind up the leaks. It's a plumber's job, no' an engineer's."

"Well, if you can't do your job, I'll undertake to do mine," said the Captain grimly.

McPhulach emitted a groan, then took from his pocket a short and very rank briar pipe. A look of phlegmatic resignation had come over his face.

"Maybe ye're richt, skipper," he said. "Hae ye got sic a thing as a plug o' tobaccy on ye'r pairson?"

Calamity handed him a pouch of tobacco. McPhulach filled his pipe, and, remarking that he might run short, also put some tobacco loose in his pocket.

"Gin ye hae a match, I'll go below and see what can be done," he said.

The Captain produced a box of vestas. The engineer lit his pipe, and, absent-mindedly dropping the matches into his own pocket, left the bridge.

The mate, meanwhile, had been superintending the removal of the wounded and the washing down of the decks. Three men had been killed, not including two firemen scalded to death in the stokehold, and the wounded numbered eleven. The latter were made as comfortable as possible in the hold and the former were carried into the wheel-house pending burial.

Gradually the commerce-destroyer became smaller and smaller, until, by evening, all that was visible of her was a feathery smoke-trail on the horizon.

Soon after eight bells that night, McPhulach succeeded in performing a miracle—the Hawk's engines began to move.