“She’s passed the gap. She’s after us!” said Henninger, after a couple of anxious minutes. “Bring up the rifles. It’ll come to shooting again.”
There was a rush down the ladder to the cabin where the weapons had been left. When they returned to the deck it was almost certain that the steamer was really in pursuit. The gusts of flying sparks were growing continuous; she was forcing her speed, and it seemed to Elliott that he could almost distinguish her black, plunging hull, and hear the vibration of her engines above the charge and crash of the white-topped rollers.
“Haul in as close to the reef as you can,” commanded Henninger to the skipper. “We can sail in water where she daren’t go.”
The leadsman was set to work again, and the dhow steered in close, perilously close, to the white line of surf. She was rounding the western end of the island now, running with a three-quarter wind, but the steamer was cutting down her lead with great strides. The ships were only a quarter of a mile apart; they were less than that; and now Elliott could see the volumes of black smoke rolling furiously across the clearing sky, and now he made out, vaguely but certainly, the dark bulk of the pursuer. She was following them, running recklessly into the shoaling water. The jumping throb of her screw beat across the sea, but she remained dark as midnight, except for the showers of red cinders flying from her draught.
Suddenly a dozen lanterns blazed up on board the steamer. She was scarcely two hundred yards astern, and she seemed to loom like a mountain above the dhow. Two shadowy figures stood on her bridge, with tense excitement in every line of the pose as they clutched the iron railing. In the wheel-house the faint outline of another man showed, grasping the spokes, illumined by the dim glow of the binnacle lamp. They heard the crash of the seas on her iron side as she tore ahead; and, startlingly, a brilliant light was flashed on the dhow from a strong reflector, and a gigantic voice bellowed at them through a megaphone.
“Ahoy! Ahoy! the dhow!” it roared. “Henninger, Henninger, heave to instantly, or, by God, we will run you down!”
It was Carlton’s voice that shouted, and Henninger in answer heaved up his Mauser. “Fire at the wheel-house!” he cried, and all of his party caught the chance. “Crack! Cr-rack!” the rifles spluttered. Elliott thought he heard a sharp cry. A couple of wild shots flashed in reply from the towering deck. The blinding light went out, and in the glow of the wheel-house Elliott saw the steersman fall, reeling aside, still clinging to the spokes.
The steamer sheered violently to starboard. A man leaped from the bridge to the wheel, but it was too late; she was running too fast, and was already too close to the reefs. A wild yell rang over the sea, drowned by a mighty crash and rattle. The steamer had plunged, bows on, sheer upon the rocks, and lay there under a shower of whitening spray.
Elliott had shouted, too, in uncontrollable excitement, but when he realized the wreck he turned quickly to Henninger. “We must stand by them,” he cried. “They may go to pieces.”
The Englishman was leaning on the rail, and looking coolly at the second victim of the reef.