"He's mad," roared Webster, meaning Chubb; "we ain't going to be sunk
to please him," and he rushed on the bridge to put a stop to our
flight.

Chubb interposed to prevent him; they closed, grappled together, and
finally fell off the bridge, still struggling.

The cruiser had to stop to pick up her boat, and the delay probably
saved us; we must, moreover, have been a very uncertain mark in the
unnatural light, which doubtless would be no aid to gunnery practice.
On we tore, with the steam-gauge uncomfortably near danger point; the
warship in hot pursuit, looking, wreathed as she was in the smoke and
flame of her fiercely worked guns, and the electric glare of the vivid
shaft which still turned night into day, more like some fabulous
sea-monster than a fabric contrived by man. She plied us with both
shot and shell; one of the latter burst in the air over our bows; two
men were killed and several injured by the fragments. We were struck
nine or ten times in all, but they were glancing blows, which never
fairly hulled us. Chubb held on resolutely; we increased our distance
fast, and at length ran out of range. Never before had I felt so
thankful as when those fearful projectiles began to fall short. From
that point we were safe. We were five knots better than our pursuer,
and the only danger lay in the chance that some other cruiser,
attracted by the firing, might be brought across the line of our
flight. None, however, appeared, and our great speed dropped the enemy
long before daylight.

The damage to the ship was confined to the upper works, and could soon
be put to rights, but five of the crew had been killed and twice that
number wounded, and unused to such work as I was, I felt strongly