Slowly the smoke began to disperse. Into the eddying vapour shell after shell poured from the Pelikan. All around the sea was lacerated by the ricochetting projectiles, which threw columns of spray high into the air, the pure whiteness of the artificial waterspouts contrasting vividly with the dark background of smoke.
The Germans were shouting madly. It was their way of cheering, but it lacked the inspiring sound of a hearty British cheer. Then, with remarkable suddenness, the uproar of voices trailed away into a silence, broken only by the desultory firing from the Pelikan.
Under cover of the cloud of smoke purposely emitted from the gunboat, the British craft had swung round and was steaming away at her maximum of 13 knots, apparently undamaged by the salvoes that had been directed towards her. The exultant shouts of the Germans were not renewed when they saw the small vessel turn tail. Too late they realized that they had thrown away their advantages by being too premature. The gunboat, having sea-room in which to manoeuvre, was speeding away, not in flight, but with the object of wirelessing the cruisers and destroyers. By letting their insignificant antagonist escape the Germans were bringing a hornet's nest about their ears.
Somewhat disconsolately, the Myra's prize crew descended the rigging and other coigns of vantage and regained the deck. They, however, knew that a loophole for escape remained. They were under orders to cross the inner bar and ascend the Mohoro River. That course was denied the Pelikan for the next four or five days. A high spring-tide was an absolute necessity for her to cross the barrier, and long before that time the British blockading squadron would be off the reefs, ready to pulverize the raider into a mass of twisted scrap-iron.
The time of high water had gone, and the tide was beginning to fall, when the Myra essayed the task of crossing the inner bar. There was no surf breaking at the mouth of the river, since the coral reef enclosing the lagoon effectually sheltered the shore. Only a few ripples marked the spot where the down-current met the submerged barrier. In a few minutes the great volume of water pouring down the river, having time to overcome the up tidal stream, would be surging furiously over the bar.
"I wish to goodness we could crock the steering-gear," said O'Hara in a low voice. "If the old hooker grounded on the bar she would prevent the Pelikan from entering."
"Not much use," objected Denbigh. "In fact, it would be more of a help to her than a hindrance."
"How's that?" asked the Irishman.
"Simply because the river would dig itself another channel across the bar, and its width being restricted by the stranded vessel, its depth would be even greater than the existing one. No, I think we can do nothing but sit tight and trust to luck, that the Pelikan will be sent to the bottom before Friday."
"And us?"