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"Get those shrouds spliced and set up again, Mr. Hubbard," said Peabody.

Crippled the two-decker might be, but she was determined on inflicting the utmost possible damage before her antagonist escaped out of range. The two stern chasers roared out their defiance; the surgeon's crew were already carrying the wounded below in their canvas chairs and dragging the dead out of the way. Again the two-decker was wreathed in smoke, and Peabody found time to feel a momentary misgiving lest this broadside should do more damage than merely parting a couple of shrouds. But even as the thought came into his head he saw two jets of water rise from a wave top a cable's length astern--the danger was past, and although two guns had been well pointed they had not been given sufficient elevation.

"She's out of range, sir," said Murray, turning back to him from his gun.

"Yes, Mr. Murray, thanks to you," said Peabody.

Murray showed a gleam of white teeth in his smoke-blackened face.

"Thank you, sir," he said.