Out of the raffle, forward by the conning-tower, a man appeared, and with a perceptible stagger reeled aft to the wheel, which had escaped uninjured.
“’Tis the Quartermaster,” whispered the men.
From the cruiser’s deck men fired at him, but he reached the wheel, and threw his strength into it.
Then on the shattered portion of the bridge there stood the figure of the Captain. A moment he looked around him, then above his head to the summit of a single bare pole on board there mounted a black ball, and there streamed out the red and blue of the Union Jack!
Both ships came round, the Swift stem on, and the cruiser with her broadside.
The six guns flashed together in one thunderous roar, the Swift seemed to shrink at the shock, her decks were swept, the bridge torn to fragments; then she leapt forward and buried her ram in the body of her great enemy. Through iron and wood the spur of steel forced its way, and the splinters and crash could be heard above the fierce lashings of the screws and the wild cries of the crew.
For a breathless pause the catcher battered at the wound she had made; then she was swept round against the side of the cruiser, and sunk stern foremost. Into the whirlpool made the cruiser dipped her wounded side, her decks came over at first slowly to the weight of rushing water; then, with a mighty smash her masts struck the sea and she turned bottom up; there was a flash of shining copper, and then the waves above her closed, with a rush, and there was nothing but tossing foam to mark where the two antagonists had gone down, almost locked together in their last deadly embrace.