Plymouth Sound was a scene of great bustle and activity, and it was by no means easy for a ship like the Mary Rose, which had no claim upon the services of a single man in the place, to get anything done. By nightfall, however, Bowling had not only handed over his two prizes to the proper authorities for adjudication, and communicated his directions to his agents concerning the vessels, but had filled up with coal, and put to sea again.

To make up for the time which he had lost, he steamed out of the soundings at a speed of fifteen knots, and, heading for Cape Finisterre, determined for the present to think no more of making any prizes beyond those which he could not do without. By breakfast time on the morning of the 10th he had passed Brest without sighting any French warship, and very early on the morning of the 11th, Cape Finisterre was visible, distant about ten miles on the port beam. That evening at sunset, in lovely weather, the privateer passed Lisbon, and on the morning of the 12th she was in the latitude of the Straits, but about two hundred miles to the westward.

Bowling had decided to run at all hazards into the Mediterranean, but he was not disposed to attempt so bold an undertaking without first replenishing all his coal bunkers. He knew that, if he got through the French Fleet that was engaged at Gibraltar, he would probably be chased, and he had no mind to be taken owing to lack of fuel. He therefore reduced his speed to 10 knots, hoisted French colours, and, keeping a little outside those waters which he felt were likely to be patrolled by the French scouts and cruisers, he set to work to look for a vessel that would serve his turn.

She came sooner than Bowling had ventured to hope. That afternoon at about six o’clock a trampish-looking steamer was sighted, labouring along, at a speed of between seven and eight knots, from the southward. The Mary Rose passed close to her and hailed her, and her skipper, a little old man whose face was of the texture and almost of the colour of a dried raisin, replied in French that his ship was the Gédéon, of Rochefort, homeward-bound from Gabon with a cargo of palm oil, copal, and caoutchouc. The man was ordered to heave to, and Day, who spoke French like a native, went with a boat’s crew to him.

The dried skipper met Day at the gangway, and unsuspectingly informed him that he had heard down the coast some rumours of war. “Were they,” he asked, “true?”

Day told him that they were quite true, and that a French Fleet was at that moment busy in an attack upon Gibraltar, whereat the Frenchman looked very proud and happy.

“But there are a great many English cruisers about,” continued Day; “and if you don’t look very sharp, you’ll be snapped up before you get into the Charente. Are you steaming so slowly because you are short of coal?”

“Oh, no,” said the man; “I have plenty of coal. The reason is that I can’t steam any faster. But come to my cabin and take a glass of wine, and let us drink to the confusion of these English.”

“I’m much obliged to you,” replied Day; “but really it isn’t wine, but coal, that I’ve come in search of. That ship is an English privateer, and....”

The Frenchman’s face grew black. “This is a trap, then?” he asked.

“As you please. You perceive that my ship is now flying her own colours. You cannot escape from her. You must therefore allow her to take such coal as she requires.”

“I will allow nothing of the sort. Quit my deck, sir!” And the little dried man assumed an attitude so well expressive of the direst and most contemptuous wrath that he looked positively noble.

“My ship will take you in tow,” said Day, not replying to the Frenchman’s outburst.

“Never!” cried the little man; and flying at Day, he flung his arms round the lieutenant’s waist as if he intended to heave him overboard.

Day’s men were all in the boat; and therefore, although he could have very easily tackled the irate master mariner alone, the officer was at a great disadvantage when a couple of stalwart Frenchmen sprang forward to reinforce their chief. Day lost his glasses, without which he was as blind as a bat; but he was too proud to cry for help, and he struggled manfully against the overwhelming odds; until at last, hot, dishevelled, and angry, he found himself tied ignominiously to the bitts at the foot of the steamer’s mizzen.

During this time Day’s boat alongside was hanging on, and suspecting no evil.

“Now, sir,” said the French skipper to the prisoner, “I will give your friends coal. Ho, there, François and Jacques! Go below and bring up the largest and finest piece of coal you can find.”

Day bit his lip, but said nothing. “They must see me from the cruiser,” he thought; but he was so short-sighted that he did not perceive that the bulwarks of the Gédéon were too high for anyone on the bridge of the Mary Rose in her then position to be able to see over them. In a couple of minutes François and Jacques appeared, staggering beneath a lump of coal which may have weighed nearly a hundredweight.

“C’est beau, ce gros bloc, n’est ce pas?” asked the French skipper, with a leer. “Croyez-vous que ça suffira? Moi je le crois bien. Essayons-nous! Dégouttez moi ce charbon dans le canot de monsieur. ’Suis etonné qu’on envoie un canot si fragile pour une telle cargaison. Vite! Laissez tomber!”

And before poor Day, with his bad sight, had realised what was in the wind, François and Jacques had hoisted the coal over the bulwarks and dropped it clean through the bottom of the Mary Rose’s boat.

It has been noted that the crew of the privateer was drawn from several nationalities. Cosmopolitan, in consequence, was the bad language which, as the boat filled and sunk, arose from the men who were left floundering in the water. Bowling, from the Mary Rose’s bridge, saw what had happened, and at once ordered out another boat, but long before it was under way for the Gédéon the men from the water had by some means managed to scramble up to the Frenchman’s deck, to send the little dried skipper sprawling, to release Day, and to haul down the tricolour. No one but the French captain dreamt of resisting.

By this time the privateer had come under the Frenchman’s stern, and Bowling was able to see for himself how matters were going. “Send a hawser to us, Mr. Day,” he cried, “and we will take you in tow. You shouldn’t have let yourself be caught napping in that way. Ha! ha! No one is any the worse, I hope. Can you take charge of her?”

Day, who had recovered his glasses, and who, with them on his nose, was equal to anything, sang out, “Aye, aye, sir! No one hurt!” and sent the end of the hawser, by the second boat, to the Mary Rose, which in a few minutes passed ahead, and, with the Frenchman in her wake, steamed off to the south-east.

By daybreak next morning the privateer and her prize were off the mouth of the Wadi Gloug, a little stream which comes down from the mountains of Morocco and enters the Atlantic about twenty miles to the southward of El Araish. There, in seven fathoms, Bowling anchored, and, having brought the Gédéon alongside, set to work to take out of her as much coal as his own ship could hold. He adopted the precaution of putting the Gédéon outside the Mary Rose, so that, if he were attacked while coaling, his prize would afford him some protection, while he, in consequence of his superior height out of the water, could fire over her. But he was not disturbed. A few boats from the wretched shore came off, and curiously observed what was going forward. Others brought fish, milk, fruits, and vegetables for sale. The natives, however, seemed to know nothing of the war, and to realise the existence of no difference between British and French; and if the Mary Rose had arrived to seize their country they would apparently have been equally ready to do a little trade with her; for even in that far-away spot Her Majesty’s image, on a gold or silver coin, was recognised and duly honoured. In the meantime Lieutenant Tripper was able to try most of his torpedoes.

Bowling invited the French skipper to breakfast with him; and the honest man, who felt that he had done all that duty and patriotism demanded, graciously accepted.

“I don’t know what to do with your ship,” said Bowling. “It seems barbarous to set you and your men ashore on such a place as this, and to scuttle the Gédéon; but I don’t see any alternative.”

“I am your prisoner, sir,” said the skipper, “and I can do nothing, but I warn you that my country will amply avenge this insult.”

“Yes, I know. And of course, if I were to let you go, you would, as soon as possible, find out the nearest French cruiser and set her on my track.”

“I should have that honour,” assented the little Frenchman.

“Then I can’t let you go; that’s all. You must remain here!”

“Sir! It is an outrage, an indignity, a barbarism, a piracy!”

“I can’t help it. I’m very sorry. Will you remain here ashore or afloat?”

“Sir, you may put me ashore and destroy my ship. That is as you please! But if you leave me master of my ship, nothing shall prevent me from steaming as fast as possible to denounce your dastardly interference with me—your unheard of robbery.”

Bowling touched the bell at his elbow, and, when his servant appeared, sent to beg the chief engineer to speak to him.

“I want to know, Mr. Macpherson,” he said, when that officer arrived, “whether, without doing the Gédéon any permanent damage, you can so deal with her engines that she shall be unable to move from here for a week?”

“Certainly, sir.”

“Then be so good as to do so, and let me know when the business is finished.”

And thus it happened that late that afternoon, when the Mary Rose steamed proudly away to the northward, the little dried skipper stood stamping and cursing on his quarter-deck, with the knowledge that the engines beneath him had been deprived of half-a-dozen small pieces of metal, without which they were useless. The little pieces of metal were not far off. Mr. Macpherson himself had dropped them overboard, and the depth was only seven fathoms. The local natives, moreover, were capital divers, and the bottom was pretty clean, so that the valuable fragments were not likely to be lost. But they would require a good deal of looking for. And no wonder that the little dried Frenchman stamped and swore until the Mary Rose, steaming with his coal, was below the horizon.

Mr. Macpherson also swore. “This is,” he said, “the very dirtiest and vilest coal that I have met with in the whole course of my experience.” And Mr. Maintruck, as he saw his white decks growing blacker and blacker, and watched the plumes of funereal smoke above the cruiser’s funnels, swore too, but solaced himself by remarking to Salthorse, “Well, they may take us for anything but an Englishman. This is a deuced sight more deceptive than flying a dozen French ensigns. I never saw anything like it, unless it was the smoke from the German squadron at Spithead in ’89. Whew! I got a whiff of that, and I shall never forget it.”

It is but about eighty miles from the mouth of the Wadi Gloug to the mouth of the Strait of Gibraltar. Maintaining a speed of ten knots, but having ordered steam for full speed to be ready by ten o’clock, Bowling followed the coast as far to the northward as Arzilla, and then, altering course four points to port, kept away to seaward. At eight o’clock, and again at half-past nine, he increased speed until he was running at sixteen knots, and until at midnight Cape Spartel bore S.S.E., eighteen miles. He was therefore about fifty miles due west of the narrowest part of the Strait.

The men, excepting the watch, had turned in at the usual hour, but at midnight Bowling turned up all hands, and briefly addressed them. He said that, so far as he knew, the French Fleet was still bombarding Gibraltar; but that, whether or no, he was going to rush the Strait. If the French were there he intended to do them as much harm as possible in his passage. He was going through at full speed. He did not purpose to use the ram, as he had no desire to damage himself, and as he knew how difficult it was to use the ram with effect. Whatever work might be done must therefore be done with the gun and torpedo. If he got through, he would, no doubt, be chased—perhaps all the way to Malta, whither he was bound. The men, consequently, must be prepared for a long spell of hard work. He had absolute confidence, however, in their willingness to stand by him and his officers. They had already made two very valuable prizes, the due proportion of the proceeds of which, upon their return home, would be at their disposal, and in the Mediterranean there would doubtless be other prizes not less worth having, but that night he was not looking for prizes, but for glory. The men, who received the address with enthusiasm, were then dismissed to their quarters, and Bowling, mounting to the bridge, ordered speed to be further increased to seventeen knots, and headed his ship to the eastward.

It was a cloudy and rather dark night. There was but little wind, but there was a heavy swell from the Atlantic, and the Mary Rose, as she bounded away before it, took the water over her bows in great showers of spray, and pitched pretty deeply, although, as she had plenty of freeboard, she seldom or never absolutely buried her nose.

“It’s not much of a night for torpedo boats,” said Bowling to Tripper. “I doubt whether we shall be troubled with them. They will all have run for shelter.”

“Well, even if they are out,” answered the torpedo lieutenant, “they will steam very badly in this swell, and we shall have the legs of the best of them.”

“I think that we won’t use our above-water torpedo tubes,” continued Bowling. “I don’t quite like the risk of having such quantities of explosives where a chance shell from the enemy may get at them and blow us up. In case of our having an opportunity, I will manœuvre so as to enable you to use the bow and stern under-water tubes, and these must suffice for to-night. But please, Mr. Tripper, be ready with a second and third torpedo for each. I’m going to do all the damage I can; and it won’t be my fault if our friends in the Strait don’t remember this 13th of May.”

“Sail right ahead!” hailed the look-out in the foretop.

“Kindly go up and have a look at it, Mr. Salthorse,” said Bowling.

Salthorse, who, in spite of his seniority in the Navy, was not lacking in activity when serious business was doing, went up with an agility worthy of a midshipman, and reported that the stranger looked like a cruiser, but was still too far off to be exactly made out.

“Now for the rush, then,” cried Bowling, as he bent over the engine-room speaking tube. “Put on the forced draught,” he shouted down, “and give me all the speed you possibly can.” To a messenger he said, “Take my compliments to the chief engineer, and beg him to make the best arrangements for getting plenty of coal and for keeping plenty of steam. We shall probably want forced draught all night.” And to the gunnery lieutenant, “Please, Mr. Tompion, have every gun that will bear trained on this ship as we come up with her, and be ready to fire at my direction, but not before. Make your men lie down when you safely can, and see that there is plenty of ammunition on deck.”

Then he glued his eyes to his night-glass, and with legs apart and greatcoat flapping in the wind made by the ship, gazed over the spray-washed bows into the pregnant darkness.

When a vessel is moving by night at a speed of about twenty statute miles an hour she very quickly closes any stationary or nearly stationary objects that may be sighted lying near her course. Soon, therefore, Bowling saw a huge masted mass looming up ahead of him: and his familiarity with the outward appearance of most of the ships of the French Escadre de la Méditerranée at once told him that this dark monster was the great protected cruiser Tage, the largest unarmoured cruiser in the French Navy. She was a vessel of 7045 tons displacement and 12,410 indicated horse-power, built at St. Nazaire in 1884, and carrying, in addition to numerous lighter weapons, six 6·4-in. and ten 5·4-in. guns. She was moving very slowly diagonally across the Mary Rose’s course, with her nose to the south-west, and she did not appear to see the privateer until the latter was within a mile of her. Having seen her, she increased speed a little, and came towards the intruder, whereupon Bowling, who by that time felt quite sure that it was the Tage and no other craft that was approaching him, starboarded his helm a bit, and as his ship came round, ordered the starboard 9·4-in. gun to be fired at the Frenchman, who, when the word was given, was barely three cables away.

The Tage was clearly taken by surprise, and before she returned the compliment the Mary Rose’s people had fired their big starboard gun a second time, and had poured in a perfect hail of projectiles from their 4·7-in. and smaller guns. The enemy, who had sent up three rockets, then replied with a broadside, which, being badly aimed, did no damage, and with a dropping fire, which had scarcely begun to be effective ere it ceased.

The ships had been moving on two ever-nearing arcs, and were nearly broadside to broadside, when the Tage ceased firing. At the same instant she appeared to lose her way.

“Look out, sir,” cried Echo suddenly to Bowling, “she has fired a torpedo. I saw it enter the water. There!” and he pointed to a luminous streak which was lengthening out from the Tage’s side and rapidly approaching the Mary Rose.

Bowling put the helm hard over to starboard, and reversed one engine, so that he quickly showed his stern to the enemy, and so handy was the ship, that, to his delight, almost as much as to his relief, he was able to let the torpedo pass harmlessly along her whole length, and slowly vanish into the gloom beyond.

The few seconds during which the danger was imminent were trying ones for all who were aware of it; but the men at the guns were in blissful ignorance, and they continued to pound the Tage and to make excellent practice at her. Bowling completed the small circle which the discharge of the torpedo had forced him to begin, and while he was completing it the enemy resumed her fire, although she now fired feebly and in a desultory manner. Several of the Mary Rose’s men had fallen and had been carried below, and the captain, anxious to make an end as soon as possible of the unsatisfactory combat, put himself in the Frenchman’s wake, and almost immediately discovered that in that position he was very little exposed to the enemy’s fire, and was, indeed, comparatively safe.

But, since first sighting the Mary Rose, the Tage had greatly improved her pace, and, although cinders and flame, as well as smoke, were pouring from the privateer’s funnels, and the ship was throbbing like some wild thing burdened with a heart too big for it, the British vessel was little, if at all, superior to her opponent in speed. The Tage was heading direct for the narrow part of the Strait, and there Bowling realised that he must expect to find nothing but enemies, while the other would probably find nothing but friends.

Mr. Binnacle, with his sextant to his eye, carefully watched the chase. “I think we are coming up a little, sir,” he would say at one moment, and at another: “I believe she is gaining a trifle again, sir.”

“What is her distance, do you think?” asked Bowling.

“Well, sir, I haven’t the height of her spars, but I should imagine not more than four cables.”

“Too far for a torpedo, I’m afraid,” remarked Bowling, regretfully: “surely we ought to be able to stop her with our guns. Where is Mr. Tompion?”

In less than a minute Tompion saluted the captain.

“We’re not making very good practice, Mr. Tompion, I’m afraid,” said the latter. “I know it’s very difficult shooting with so much water coming over our bows, and with the ship pitching so freely, but we must stop the enemy if we can.”

“We can only hope for a lucky shot, then, sir,” returned Tompion. “I have fired two or three rounds myself, and I know the difficulty. Perhaps if you were to yaw a little, so that I could bring one of the sponson guns to bear, I might be more successful. I don’t like to fire them right ahead for fear of damaging the ship, but if you would yaw two points I could manage it, though, of course, we should lose ground. However, there is much less motion with the sponson guns, and the shooting would certainly be better.”

“No! I won’t yaw yet,” decided Bowling. “I should lose too much. For the present, please, go on firing as before with the bow gun, but see that they don’t waste the ammunition.”

Below, on the privateer’s forecastle, the scene was an exciting one. Not only the 9·4-in. gun was engaged; the four 4·7-in. guns immediately abaft it were firing too. But every few seconds, as the staggering ship pitched into the water, sea and spray flew tempestuously over her bows, and threatened to wash the men from their quarters. The guns had no chance of getting hot. They were kept far too wet for that, but that was the only advantage of the situation. The dark object which represented the Tage was now hoisted high on the swell, and now nearly hidden by it; and even had there been no spray, it would have been exceedingly hard to hit so unstable a mark.

Meanwhile, the flying enemy was sending up signal rockets at frequent intervals, and, at the same time, firing desultorily. Tompion was sent for again to the bridge. Macpherson and Tripper were also summoned thither. But Tompion could make no better practice than before; Macpherson could not provide an ounce more steam than he was already providing; and Tripper held out no hope that a torpedo, discharged at so great a range and at a fast retreating target, would reach its mark. “The torpedo will make its twenty-seven knots, sir,” explained the last named officer, “but the enemy is doing her nineteen, and is already four cables ahead of us. We should only waste the torpedo, for it would have to run over a mile and a half at full speed to catch up the chase, and I never yet knew a torpedo run more than fourteen or sixteen hundred yards before stopping altogether.”

It was therefore tolerably certain that, barring accidents, the Tage, if her friends were still off the Rock, must escape. Bowling, whose temper was usually very equable, could not conceal his annoyance, but his attention was suddenly distracted by an unexpected hail from the look-out in the top. “Two sail in chase on the starboard quarter,” sang out the man, who had lungs of brass. And there, truly enough, coming out from under the shadow of Cape Spartel, were a couple of black hulls, from whose funnels were trailing sheets of flame, and sparks, and shrouds of smoke of the very blackest. They were a good two miles off, when first sighted, but a brief break in the thick clouds let the moonlight down to them, and Bowling speedily recognised them as two cruisers of the Surcouf class. There was no room for doubt. Everyone who saw the Surcouf herself at Spithead, in the summer of 1891, and who recollects her, must agree that a craft of her type is not easily to be taken for anything else that floats and steams. They were, as afterwards appeared, the Cosmao and the Coëtlogon, third-class cruisers of about 1850 tons displacement and 6000 horse-power, each mounting four 5·4-in. breech-loading, three quick-firing, and four machine guns, carrying five torpedo tubes, and having a speed nominally about half a knot superior to that of the Mary Rose.

Bowling looked at the chase, half expecting to see her turn, and mentally calculating whether, if she did so, it would be worth while to endeavour to ram her; but he quickly decided that it would not. He recollected that never, up to that time, in the history of modern naval warfare, had the ram been effectively used while the enemy still had sea-room and control of her machinery and steering gear. If he could first disable his opponent, the ram might, he concluded, be his proper weapon, but not unless.

The two vessels astern had already opened fire, but they did no harm, the distance being too great and the swell too heavy. The projectiles, however, came near enough to the bridge to make themselves loudly heard; and, as the Tage also was now firing freely from several revolving cannon which she had got up on to her poop, as well as from the few larger guns that would bear, Bowling determined not to expose himself and his officers more than was absolutely necessary, and to fight the ship, for the present, from the quarter-deck, instead of from the neighbourhood of the conning tower. He still kept the tops manned, of course, with a midshipman in each of them; and, as a matter of fact, the men, even had he ordered them to come down, would have been very unwilling to do so, for, in such circumstances, the tops are the most exciting positions in a ship.

But although Bowling nominally fought his ship from the quarter-deck, he did not continuously remain there. Followed by a bugler and a couple of messengers, he went everywhere, now watching the firing of the guns on the forecastle, now mounting upon the hammock nettings to get a wider view, and now revisiting the bridge, in order to consult the chart with Binnacle. For half-an-hour the relative positions of the ships did not apparently vary by a couple of cables’ lengths.

Then, in the west, were seen innumerable lights, as of a floating city, and, above them, in the black night, shone patches of red, green, and violet stars, as the great French Fleet—stretching half across the Strait—came westward, alarmed by the repeated signals of its scouts, and signalled in return promises of succour.

Bowling saw this sight first from the bridge. Soon he could see it from the forecastle, as the ship rose on the swell. His heart beat, one may suspect, a little faster than usual; but his voice was only a trifle rougher and harder than his ordinary voice, when, having summoned his officers, he said, briefly,—

“Gentlemen, there is the French Fleet. I want you to help me to take the Mary Rose through it. If I fall, the officer who commands must carry her to Malta, and hand over to the Admiral there a dispatch which is now in my pocket. I have weighted it, so that it may be sunk if necessary. But God forbid! If necessary also, the private signals must be sunk. Mr. Tripper, I shall use the underwater bow and stern tubes: I confide in you to have everything ready. Mr. Macpherson, you have done nobly, so far, in your department. Give us, please, all the help you can. Mr. Tompion, man both sides, and tell the officers of quarters not to lose a shot, and not to fire at a greater range than a thousand yards. Gentlemen, to your quarters, and may our work be well done.”

Owing to the fact that she carried nearly all her guns on the upper deck, the Mary Rose had been fitted with a considerable number of shot-hoists, which worked through scuttles in that deck. These were, of course, open in time of action, and Bowling had already made up his mind that, rather than trust to mechanical or electrical signalling apparatus, he would pass all orders to the main deck by word of mouth or bugles through the scuttles. Instructions were given for the orders to be handed on in the same way to their destinations, and thus, independent of wires, tubes, bars, and levers, the captain was able to communicate pretty promptly with every department, no matter where he might be. Not the least advantageous feature in this arrangement was that an officer standing near a scuttle could obtain a certain amount of protection from the shield of the gun, for the service of which the scuttle was designed, and could thus derive from the shelter some of the benefits of a conning tower, while, at the same time, the real conning tower, the natural target for all hostile projectiles, was unoccupied.

It was, at first, impossible to distinguish the order in which the French Fleet was steaming, for across the privateer’s bows stretched a confused row of lights that bobbed upon the swell, and that seemed to have little or no order at all; but soon Bowling made out that the cruisers, in line abreast, were about a couple of miles ahead of the battleships, which were in similar formation. The entire Fleet was coming out in a body. It, therefore, evidently believed that it was being attacked in force, and that a general action might be expected. The Tage held on, heading straight for the centre of her friends, and pouring forth more flame, sparks, and smoke than ever. The Mary Rose, three or four cables astern of her, held on also, the quartermasters at the wheel having general directions to follow the Tage into the enemy’s line. All firing at the cruiser had ceased, although the Tage continued to fire as before; and the Mary Rose’s men worked silently at their guns, training them on the high hulls that were so rapidly approaching, and eagerly awaiting the word to begin.

The speed of the advancing French was not more than eleven knots, but that of the privateer was nineteen. The two were thus closing one another at a speed of about thirty knots, or, as nearly as possible, one thousand yards a minute. At first, it was quite clear, the French did not know what to make of the situation, but it may be assumed that the Tage made some kind of signal to them, for, when their first line was a mile or so from the privateer, their cruisers began to converge towards the Mary Rose, and, as was evident from their augmented smoke, to endeavour to greatly increase their speed.

Bowling stood immediately above the main deck wheel, from which his ship was being steered. He had unsheathed his sword, and he leant upon it as he stooped from time to time over the scuttle to shout down his orders. His face was bloodless, but his lips were set. Behind him stood the bugler, who looked as if, at that moment, he could not have blown a call to save his life. The enemy, on both bows, began to fire. Once or twice the projectiles from their machine guns swept across the deck like hail, until the range was again lost. Then the bigger guns opened, at about a thousand yards, and splinters began to fly from the woodwork above, and from the boats.

Bowling looked up and saw that, owing to the converging movement, the first French line had drawn in to nearly half its former breadth, and that the ships on his port bow had converged somewhat more than those on his starboard, having made a more sudden turn. In an instant, therefore, he ordered his own helm to be put somewhat over to starboard, thus bringing his course nearly parallel with that of the right flank of the French. At the same time he gave the word to open fire, and every gun in the ship at once answered him.

The Mary Rose’s last movement had had the effect of placing all the French cruisers, except one, upon her starboard bow and beam. To get near her, the vessels which had been carrying starboard helm would, Bowling knew, have either to risk making an awkward turn, which would expose them to his ram, or to continue going round to port. The one evolution would get them into difficulties with their ships of the left flank, the other would cause them to lose a great amount of valuable time. As a matter of fact, none of these ships ventured to port the helm, but the outside ship, seeing herself, as it were, cut off for the moment from her friends, was obviously determined to endeavour to ram.

She was easily recognised as the Davout, a fine steel twin-screw protected cruiser of over 3000 tons displacement, and 9000 indicated horse-power, that had been launched at Toulon in 1889; and, as she headed straight for the privateer’s port bow, and came on rapidly, she towered a magnificent object. Bowling shifted his helm a point or so, so as to offer his bow, and shouted in rapid succession: “Ready, bow tube!”... “Fire, bow tube!”... Then, when the two ships were almost in collision, he swung the Mary Rose’s head still more to port.

The torpedo hit its mark, striking the Davout on the port bow immediately under the anchor davit; and, even while the huge column of white water from the explosion was still in the air, the Mary Rose swept close along the Davout’s starboard side, and, with guns depressed to their utmost limit, fired down through her armoured deck. The Davout’s people must have been lying down in preparation for the shock of ramming, for only one of her guns replied to that tremendous salvo; but that one sent its 6·4-in. shell clean through the privateer’s thin citadel armour. It burst, with terrible result, on the main deck, close to the wheel above which Bowling stood, and killed or wounded every man in the vicinity; but Bowling, although temporarily blinded and half suffocated by the smoke and dust which poured up through the scuttle at his feet, was unhurt, and, almost ere the ship had had time to fall off, the wheel was taken by others.

The Mary Rose had passed the line of cruisers. She had still to pass the line of battleships a couple of miles ahead, and she now had half-a-dozen cruisers close at her heels.

“I can’t see astern as well as ahead,” cried Bowling to Maintruck. “Station someone here to pass the word down promptly. I must go into the conning tower, or on to the bridge, and chance it.” And up he went.

There was but a brief respite. The privateer headed due east, and plunged gallantly through the seas towards the second line, and, in three minutes, she was in the thick of a fire ten times heavier than anything which she had previously experienced. Strange to say, the machinery in the conning tower worked. The unseen brain in that little steel bandbox directed, for a few moments, everything and everybody in the ship. The manœuvre which had succeeded so well with the Davout was tried again, more or less successfully, with an ironclad. The after torpedo tube was also discharged. The wheel on the main deck spun this way and that. The ship darted hither and thither in the smoke. She trembled with the bursting of shells. She echoed with the short shrieks of injured men, she shook with the firing of her own guns, she heeled as the helm was put hard over in order to avoid a blow. But all happened so quickly, that to tell it would occupy an hour for each minute of that sharp hot piece of work. Somehow, to be brief, the Mary Rose got through the line, thanks to the guiding eye of Bowling; but barely was she clear ere a shell burst against the conning tower and wrecked it. In a moment the guiding intelligence ceased to influence her. Everyone was conscious of the change, and would have been, even had the cause of it not been so plainly evident.

“Poor old Bowling!” cried Tompion to the first lieutenant. “Take command, Maintruck. The skipper’s done for. God rest him!”

And so, therefore, it was to Maintruck that fell the duty, now that the Mary Rose had traversed her enemies, of saving her from their pursuit. Yet, happily, Bowling was not done for. The shell had shattered everything in the conning tower, and the flying objects had injured him seriously. Moreover, he was stunned by the shock, and, when found, was bleeding from eyes, nose, mouth, and ears, and was quite unconscious; but, though the sight of one eye was destroyed, and he had received a dozen other wounds, he had sustained no mortal hurt.

Would that as much could be said for the members of the brave ship’s company! Lieutenant Day had his left arm broken by an iron splinter; Lieutenant Salthorse had an ugly wound in the chest from a machine gun bullet; Mr. Roberts, midshipman, and Mr. Plane, carpenter, were killed by the bursting of the same shell, and of the crew, fifty-seven were killed, and thirty-nine badly wounded. Of small wounds nearly everyone had several, for enormous numbers of splinters had been flying about. Indeed, scarcely a single person, except those whose duties had kept them below, had escaped unscathed, and Dr. Rhubarb had his hands full. Burnt with powder, stained with blood, splashed with horrible relics of unrecognisable humanity, the main and upper decks of the Mary Rose presented a sickening sight. The two quick-firing guns on the starboard quarter were literally covered with the mangled remains of the guns’ crews, who had been blown to pieces at their duty. The starboard sponson gun had become unshipped from its mounting, and had to be lashed for safety, and almost every place between decks was simply a hole full of wreckage.

But the engines and machinery, and, indeed, the ship as a whole, were as sound as ever. Very little water came in over the armoured deck, and none below it, and Maintruck, as he looked back at the French cruisers, now in full pursuit, and saw the glint of the rising sun upon their white bow waves, felt easier concerning them than he had felt at midnight.